Looks Can Be Deceiving
by ranglerrose
Summary: Ambitious Odelia Halsten has no idea what to expect when she accepts a job as assistant to a research director at S.H.I.E.L.D. But never in a million years would she imagine falling in love...with none other than Loki, the troublesome god responsible for many of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s problems. Loki/OC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my my first fanfic, so I would reallyreallyreally luhhhhv some feedback. Approve of the characters? Disapprove? Etc? I know, I know, you see that a lot. But this time is fo real, dawg. So please, review! Thanks and enjoy! :D :D **

**And of course, I don't own the Avengers or anything Marvel. **

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"Miss Halsten, you're right on time," my new boss remarks approvingly. "I'm glad we can start your first day off on the right foot. Unfortunately, our other assistant has been in the hospital with pneumonia for a while now, but I believe he's recuperating. So…here is your agenda for this week. If you need any support, I'll be in the main conference room on Floor D." The man, Owen Fray, smiles reassuringly, handing over a thick folder. "Though I have no doubt you are perfectly capable. Your resume was rather impressive."

I smile timidly, my face growing warm. I've never been good at receiving compliments. Right now, I'm stuttering a thank-you as Mr. Fray gathers up various papers for his meeting. Luckily, Mr. Fray doesn't seem to notice my weak attempts at articulation, and departs after a hasty goodbye.

Finally. Solitude. I think so much more clearly when alone. People can be so unpredictable, or just loud and distracting. It sounds odd, but being anti-social actually proved quite beneficial in high school and college, where I buried myself in schoolwork and various applications that would lock in my dream career in science (specifically, astrophysics).

And then last year, it all paid off. I was an intern at one of the U.S.'s top science institutes, and had been sending in requests to similar facilities, when I got the letter.

The letter from S.H.I.E.L.D.

I had heard little about the government agency, probably because it described itself as a secretive espionage organization of some sort. Even without all the secrecy, that isn't exactly my area of expertise. No, I'm definitely one of those science geeks; you know, the type that has elaborate models of the solar system and religiously watches Star Trek.

Okay, maybe that's going a little overboard. Yes, I love Star Trek, and yes, I made a model of the solar system for a middle school project, but if a stranger walked up to me and started a conversation, they would think I'm a typical media-obsessed, girly-girl post grad. Blond hair, slender frame, Fendi tote, manicure, etcetera. I think some people are shocked, really, to find out that my dream is to contribute to the advancement of space exploration and that, if pressed, I would admit to having the teeniest crush on a certain half-Vulcan. Looks can be deceiving.

I have that saying in mind now, as I scroll through the sleek, deceptively undersized tablet that Mr. Fray handed me. It apparently replaces the common daybook in the agency. As the assistant to the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s small scientific development department, I have to coordinate numerous meetings, complete what seems like an endless amount of paperwork pertaining to the science department, and do personal errands for Mr. Fray. In an hour, I've scheduled three more meetings this week for Mr. Fray, gone through a tenth of his paperwork, and restocked his private supply of gourmet Belgian chocolate truffles.

When I pictured myself working here, I definitely did not imagine buying chocolates for my boss. I pictured developing fantastic, space-age devices and observing agents and experiments on the colossal S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier. Maybe even designing spacecraft, for some mission that is conveniently operated in space. I had accepted the job offer immediately, as I assumed that the agency's interest in my 'impressive' credentials would mean I would at least have _access_ to the confidential laboratories and to the Helicarrier. Now I realize how uncharacteristically _stupid_ that decision was. I'm wasting away, and it's only my first day. My first _hour_!

Oh, god, I sound like an ungrateful bitch. This is a job that countless science enthusiasts would _kill_ for. Working for S.H.I.E.L.D., with its superhuman-like agents, sophisticated technology, and dealings with aliens and 'gods' – no one could forget the terrifying invasion last year, when Manhattan was nearly demolished until the Avengers interceded – is something out of a science fiction movie.

There's always the chance that my job as assistant will help me gain access to the upper levels of S.H.I.E.L.D. If not, I'll just do what I've been doing for the past decade: work myself to the point of collapse. While not the healthiest solution to challenges, it's a fail-proof method. I've never been in a serious relationship, instead focusing my efforts to graduating high school a year early and earning a full scholarship to M.I.T. I think the better option is clear in this scenario.

The phone rings shrilly, jolting me out of my thoughts and sending me scrambling to answer it. Like most of the agency's devices, the phone is considerably more advanced than the ones seen at home; it's on a computer pad on the wall, which bleeps when I approach and displays a touchscreen showing the caller's picture and a compacted version of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s file on them. I quickly scan the screen: the person on the other line is none other than Nick Fury, the agency's director.

Panic sets into my mind for a split second, and I'm paralyzed. Should I answer? Of course, it's the _director_! But what do I say? I'm only the assistant! I'll say something stupid and he'll fire me on the spot and my future in science will be gone, just like that. Oh, why did I have to accept this _stupid_ job offer? I'm making a fool of myself and it's only the first day. And Fray is so nice, I can't believe I'm letting him down just by not answering the phone –

The phone! During my internal struggle the computer pad has not ceased its irritating ringing noise. Thank goodness Fury is still there – if I had missed his call…

"Owen Fray's office, Director of Scientific Advancements For Espionage. Assistant Odelia Halsten speaking." I rattle off, quickly recalling the etiquette for answering the phone.

"I must speak with Mr. Fray immediately. Why is he not answering his personal phone?" a gruff voice barks through the computer screen. "He is needed on the Helicarrier."

The Helicarrier! My heart leaps with excitement at the thought of gliding through the sky, virtually invisible, on a hovering aircraft carrier. Would Mr. Fray allow me to go with him? _Maybe if you _find_ him first_! I remind myself, reining in my hopes.

"Uh, he went to the main conference room," I inform the director, barely allowing myself to even imagine the wonders that would be on display in the ship. Just the thought of the complex camouflage panels on the exterior of the Helicarrier makes my mind spin. The world will seem absolutely primitive after a visit to that craft.

"Thank you, Miss Halsten," Fury dismisses shortly, before the connection is cut off. I sigh, disappointed that he didn't ask me to accompany Mr. Fray. Oh, well. It's more than I can hope for with a job as humble as assistant, especially on my first day here. Now that I think about it, it's ridiculous to even consider that Mr. Fray will need me to come along. If anything, I would be needed in his office even more.

I'm still standing by the touchscreen, feeling sorry for myself, when the abrupt ringing causes me to jump about a foot in the air. Seems like I'll be getting used to that.

Oddly, it's Fury again. Maybe Fray requested my presence? The possibility is far-fetched, but I'm still bouncing on my toes as I press the talk button. "Halsten? I need you to bring something to the Helicarrier, immediately." Fury's voice barks at me, and I snap to attention even though he can't see me.

"What is it I'm bringing, sir?"

A pause, like Fury is hesitant to trust me. I can tell the 'something' is of significant importance; not something normally entrusted to a lowly assistant like me. I bristle at the thought of him not thinking me reliable; I've signed innumerable confidentiality contracts just to attain this less-than-ideal position. "Sir?" I repeat, a note of sharpness escaping my mouth. Oops. Sassing the Director probably isn't the best way to get what I want here.

"Go to the desk and retrieve Fray's laptop. Bring it to the Helicarrier." Fury instructs, before dismissing me and ending the call. I rush over to Mr. Fray's desk, which I organized less than an hour ago. His laptop is locked in the shatterproof glass compartment that is built into all S.H.I.E.L.D. office desks, so that valuable information may be secured inside. I find his passcode in the tablet he gave me, and enter it into the touchscreen on the wall. The compartment clicks open and I snatch up the laptop before hastening to Fray's office elevator.

As the elevator zooms up to the roof – which is actually the ground level since the rest of the facility is underground – I stop to think about the conversations that just took place. Fury needs Mr. Fray, who was in a meeting – but for some reason, they need me, too. Well, they need the laptop. I suppose they're just using me as a personal deliveryman, before they fly away in their beautiful invisible aircraft carrier and leave me stuck underground, doing paperwork. Whatever. Someday, I'll be designing those crafts. And my beautiful, invisible hovercrafts won't be confined to Earth. No, they'll break through the atmosphere, and into the radiant endlessness of space.

My wistful daydreaming is interrupted by the ding of the elevator as it opens to reveal the 'roof' area, where a few small helicopters are waiting only twenty feet away. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent walks up to me and indicates the closest one. "Miss Halsten? Please come with me." I follow obediently and am momentarily confused when he moves to help me inside the helicopter.

"Wait, why am I coming? Has Mr. Fray already gone up to the Helicarrier?" I quickly scan the skies for a sign of the massive vessel, but of course I can see only a few clouds and the brightly shining sun.

"Mr. Fray is…indisposed," the agent says hesitantly. "He was found unconscious in the conference room. He is currently in the Medical Bay."

"What? Why?" I gasp as I strap myself into the passenger seat. The agent shakes his head as he starts up the helicopter.

"It was a head wound with a blunt object, and that's all we know. The cameras in that room were inoperative at the time."

My head is spinning as we rise up into the sky, a combination of shock and altitude sickness. Whatever is going on with Mr. Fray, Fury, and this laptop is more serious than I thought. And I'm about to get mixed up in the mess myself.

I shiver slightly; it's freezing this high in the sky, and I didn't even consider bringing my trench coat. My thin, dusty rose button down and charcoal pencil skirt do nothing to keep me warm. The agent beside me doesn't seem bothered, though, so I ignore the chills running through my body.

As we break through the clouds, I see a huge, gray craft gliding very slowly, hiding in plain sight. Anticipation buzzes through me, and I restrain myself from bouncing in my seat, as it wouldn't appear very professional. The Helicarrier is held in the sky with four large turbines and has two levels. I know that the Avengers gathered on the aircraft carrier, and that Loki was held here. Even though my true dream is to travel through space, I can't help but marvel at the amazing ship.

We land gently on the surface of the Helicarrier, and I clamber awkwardly out of the helicopter, wobbling slightly in my Manolos. The computer is still safe in my arms, though, and that's all that matters.

"Thank you very much, Miss Halsten." I spin around to see Nick Fury standing right behind me, accompanied by a tough-looking young woman. As if reading my mind, Fury motions to his side. "This is Agent Maria Hill. My second-in-command." Agent Hill nods curtly, her face betraying no emotion, before shaking my hand.

"A pleasure," she says. "Now, if you don't mind…" She holds out her hand expectantly. A beat, and then –

"Oh! Of course." I grimace sheepishly, handing over Mr. Fray's laptop. Agent Hill takes it without another word, before waiting dutifully for Director Fury's next move. She's awfully pretty, with flawless skin, perceptive blue eyes, and shiny dark brown hair tied into a knot at the nape of her neck. She's also obviously a very skilled agent, as evidenced by her rank and her slim build. My own physical activity is limited to going for a run every so often, and my amateurish appearance is only enhanced by my primness. It's strange to feel inferior to someone for once.

As the director and Hill start to walk away, I turn back to the helicopter, expecting the pilot to already be inside. Instead, he points back behind me, where Fury is waiting impatiently. Wait…what?

"Follow us, Miss Halsten," instructs Agent Hill before the pair marches towards the entrance to the lower decks. I hurry after them excitedly, trying not to humiliate myself in my silly heels.

What could the S.H.I.E.L.D. director want with me? I don't know anything about the laptop I brought up, nor about any official S.H.I.E.L.D. business. It's only my first day, for goodness sake! When I checked in this morning, I _definitely _didn't expect to be mixed up in some alarming sort of mission even before my _lunch break_.

My only hope now is to deal with whatever business needs attending before I can embarrass myself in front of top government agents.

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**A/N: Never fear, good people of the internet! Loki will make his appearance oh-so-very-soon. Swoon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Things are moving a little slowly in this chapter (for those people that like to jump straight into romance) but never fear! This isn't a Loki/OC story for nothing! Enjoy, and please review! :)**

**I do not own Marvel, Avengers, "Friends", etc.**

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"Excuse me, sir? Could you repeat that?"

I'm sitting, paralyzed, across the table from Director Fury and his right-hand man – uh, woman. His face is dead serious as he leans forward, hands clasped. "It shouldn't be _too_ troublesome. There will be agents watching you along the way. I know you're capable."

"I'm sorry, sir. Are you actually asking _me_, out of all the people who work here, to deliver a highly confidential and potentially devastating piece of information to a different continent? I'm a scientist. Well, not even that. I'm a _research_ _assistant_. And so far, all I've done for the three hours I've been here is answer the phone and buy _truffles_!"

During the past quarter hour, my eyes have steadily been growing wider and wider while my brain struggles to process the information I'm receiving. Apparently, Mr. Fray's laptop contains a set of data that has recently been intercepted, from an organization called HYDRA. I don't know much about what S.H.I.E.L.D. does besides employ near-superhuman spies and develop sophisticated technology for its private use, but I can tell that a lot of its work revolves around keeping HYDRA out of the picture as much as possible. The data has something to do with genetic mutations, a frightening concept – most would never even _consider_ taking research that far.

My job in this grand mess is to hop on a plane, fly to Rome, and deliver the data to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s central research facility. Sounds like a piece of delicious Italian cake, right? Except for the fact that something can go wrong about, oh, _fifteen billion different ways _before I even reach the airport_. _Every person within a two-mile radius is a potential assassin. Every passing glance could be an enemy evaluating their target. Me.

And _why_ me? Why not one of the Avengers, or even just some other highly trained agent? Someone who knows basic self-defense? I'm just _not _spy material!

"Halsten, hear me out." I notice Director Fury has stopped calling me 'Miss Halsten.' This shit's getting real. Hell, it's been real ever since I received the job offer. "Our agents are hunted mercilessly by organizations all over the world." My face goes paper-white. Did he have to say _hunted_?

Seeing my increasing distress, Fury barks, "Halsten, pull yourself together! You work for S.H.I.E.L.D. now. Taking risks is an obligation. Even in the labs, you risk your life. This assignment is child's play compared to some of our other missions. Now, calm yourself and listen to me carefully!" I abruptly cease my trembling and stare at him, speechless. Well, he isn't the director for nothing.

"Thank you. As I was saying, our agents are in constant danger of various enemies. We are not the only ones who have technology, information, files, and other resources. Wherever they go, agents must be vigilant and wary of everyone they see. Many of our best are taken out by those hiding in plain sight.

"That's where you come in, Halsten. This mission is best suited to _you_, rather than our more experienced agents. You are virtually unknown to our enemies, which gives us a huge advantage. They won't have any idea who to be looking for. You'll just be part of the crowd. And don't forget, there will be other agents stationed at various points to see you through your mission. You will not always interact with them, but they will be on hand if someone… well, if there's trouble. They'll also draw away anyone on the lookout for a S.H.I.E.L.D. messenger.

"So do you see how vital it is that we keep the data from being retrieved by HYDRA? Owen Fray was attacked – we still don't know how it happened yet – just for _intercepting_ the data. If HYDRA is able to complete their experiments, they will most definitely use it either to enhance their own operatives, or to use against their enemies. Meaning_ us_. That mutation business is bad news all around. We _must _understand how to work against it."

I can only nod weakly in response to the onslaught of information that has just steamrollered my cerebrum. Wait; is Fury about to speak again? Is there _more_?

"Good. Now—" Fury is interrupted by the entrance of another agent, who hands him a small Manila folder with the S.H.I.E.L.D. seal stamped on it. It looks formidably official. "Thank you, Agent Gellar." After the agent retreats back into the command room, Fury peers inside the folder, before passing it to Agent Hill. "If you would do the honors, Agent?"

Hill nods and slides the folder across the table to face me. "Open it."

I fumble to extract the contents, glancing up at them uncertainly. The item in my hand is a smooth silver USB stick, about the size of a cigarette lighter. "Is this…from the laptop?" Hill tilts her head slightly in confirmation.

"Familiarize yourself with it, Halsten. This will become your top priority soon." Well, at least I won't have to haul around a laptop, although that's a small comfort in facing almost certain failure and subsequent death.

_Looks can be deceiving_. The old warning drifts into my mind for the second time today as I gaze at the tiny, yet dangerous, device. It's up to me to ensure that it doesn't fall into the hands of the people that will only use it to further their own, despicable ends. While that is not at _all_ a reassuring thought – actually, it's quite terrifying – I still feel a sense of importance spreading through me.

Director Fury seems to notice my growing resolve, for he appears to almost smile. "If it helps, Halsten, I have faith in your abilities. Like I said when you were _eavesdropping_ earlier, you have much potential." He studies me for a moment, narrowing his one good eye, before reaching out. "I think we'll keep the USB for now. It'll be safer. It will be delivered on the day of your departure. Which will be…" Fury pauses as Agent Hill hurriedly consults her tablet.

"Tomorrow, sir. The next flight to Rome departs at nine-thirty AM."

Fury turns back to me, raising an eyebrow. "There you have it. Tomorrow morning, you will be sufficiently prepared for your trip. Take your tablet; we will send you more detailed instructions and updates. You are dismissed, Halsten. You may return to the S.T.R.A.N.D." That's my department, the Subterranean Research And Numeration Division.

And that's it. Time to go back to Mr. Fray's office like nothing happened, like I haven't just been roped into a high-risk undercover assignment. I stand up dazedly, nodding at the Director and Agent Hill in turn, before reemerging in the buzzing commotion of the command room.

After checking in on my boss's condition like any good assistant (still out cold, poor guy), I withdraw to his office, where the glass compartment in his desk is still open and empty from when I ran out. I close it gently, feeling very self-conscious in the silence of the room. It's noticeably less hectic down here in the S.T.R.A.N.D. than in the headquarters on the Helicarrier, and for a moment I almost feel lonely. A definite surprise, seeing as only two hours ago I was perfectly happy working in solitude. Maybe it's that the feeling of security from being around hundreds of lethal, combat-ready S.H.I.E.L.D. agents is gone.

The apprehension prickling in my mind gradually changes to tranquility as I chip away at the tasks copied into my tablet. Finally, I see the screen's digital clock change to seven o'clock, and exhale wearily, thankful that the day is finally over. My lovely plum-colored bed floats to mind, prompting me to hastily toss my belongings into my tote bag, before I remember with a jolt that there will be no good night's sleep. Not tonight.

Tomorrow, I have a plane to catch.

That night, I have a bizarre, probably stress-induced dream. I'm running through the airport terminal, trying desperately to make it to my gate. People keep throwing their suitcases and backpacks in my path, causing me to take a weird, convoluted loop through the terminal as I try to avoid face planting. A garbled announcement comes on over the PA, and I catch the words 'Rome' and 'departure'. Oh no! Have I missed my flight? Have I really just screwed up the whole plan, even without the presence of deadly assassins? Am I that useless?

Agent Hill stalks up to me, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt. "I knew you weren't ready!" she snarls. "You're such a waste of time! A complete failure!" Somehow, she manages to hoist me up so that my feet are dangling.

"But it's raining!" I blurt. Wait…what?

The scene disappears. I'm sprawled across my wide purple bed, feet hanging over the edge. I'm a sweaty mess, no thanks to the prehistoric wooden fan swiveling sluggishly above me. Outside, I can clearly hear the sound of pouring rain. Flopping onto my side, I crane my neck to check my alarm clock. _Five-thirty? _

I have no choice but to get up. Hopefully my unhealthy level of anxiety and utter lack of a good night's sleep won't be a problem…not that I can do anything if it is. As Agent Hill stated very clearly, this task 'will become my top priority.' Oh, _joy._

All too soon, it's time to leave the comforting familiarity of my apartment. According to updates on my tablet, a disguised S.H.I.E.L.D. 'taxicab' sporting a very specific license plate and bumper sticker (an eagle on a shield – a bit obvious, if I say so myself) should arrive in front of my building in _exactly_ twelve seconds – oh, and there it is. No surprise there.

When I slide nervously into the backseat of the cab, I'm greeted with a shock.

"Agent – "

"Well, good morning!" says Agent Hill brightly. "Destination?" Without waiting for an answer, she pulls away. I watch as my apartment building disappears around the corner, slightly nauseous, and then turn to Hill who is navigating easily through the D.C. morning commute traffic. Dozens of questions are attempting to force their way through my lips, resulting in me opening and closing my mouth like some sort of exotic fish.

"Uh…no offense, Agent, but why –"

" – am I here? I thought I would answer any last questions you have."

Is that all? "Uh…okay. Thanks. Um, why aren't we just using S.H.I.E.L.D. jets? Isn't it much safer? And simpler? And faster?"

"The S.H.I.E.L.D. jets will be more of a target. HYDRA knows that we have the data and are transporting it, and a jet en route to our central research facility is pretty conspicuous. Like the Director said, you're almost unnoticeable this way. I think everything will go as planned, but if not, you're pretty hard to find." I breathe a tiny sigh of relief. If Agent Hill thinks it will go smoothly, I don't have much to worry about – right?

"One more thing, Halsten." Her eyes flick to mine in the rearview mirror, and I notice they are much less severe than yesterday. "I just have some words of parting." That sounds like S.H.I.E.L.D. code for, 'I'm going to scare the absolute shit out of you in an effort to make sure you perform adequately.' I briefly flash back to my dream, praying that the whole lifting-me-off-my-feet-with-one-hand trick is beyond human capabilities.

"Uh, okay." I cough nervously.

"Odelia," she begins, startling me with her use of my first name, "I'm sorry if I seemed, well, doubtful of your competency. I admit I'm still not entirely sure you're ready for this." _Thanks for the support_. "But I know that's unfair."

I swallow awkwardly. "Uh…"

Hill ignores me and continues. "You know, you kind of remind me of myself when I was your age. Nervous, but determined to prove myself. Smart, talented. Wait…hang on, maybe not your age. I came to S.H.I.E.L.D. when I was nineteen."

I'm not sure whether Agent Hill is complimenting herself, or me, or just subtly insulting me. I decide to just smile weakly and nod. This ride is uncomfortable enough already without me opening my mouth.

The Reagan National Airport looms ahead, and seconds later I'm standing in front of the international terminal, clutching my small black rolling carry-on in one hand and the USB stick in the other, feeling extremely exposed. The rain has lessened to a light drizzle, and the air is unseasonably chilly for late September in D.C., but that's not the main reason why I'm visibly shaking.

It's nothing to worry about, right? It's just like any other experience in an airport. Go in, find my flight, doze off for several hours, leave the other airport, and then take a taxi to my final destination. Simple.

Somehow, my words don't sound very convincing. I conveniently left out the part about the dozens of deadly spies watching for me to slip up and reveal myself.

Inside the terminal, I do my best to look relaxed, bored, and definitely not like I'm concealing dangerous information. I hold my breath as I go through security, feeling light-headed by the time the whole ordeal is over. After two nerve-wracking minutes where I'm sure the USB will not make it out of the security scanners, I decide to hide it in the place most people don't go looking – _yes_, in my bra. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

As I walk towards my flight gate, I discreetly skim the faces in the crowd. Nobody looks like they are supposed to be undercover, whether for S.H.I.E.L.D. or HYDRA. Wait – that guy standing by the fountain looks kind of suspicious. No, now he's talking to a child – agents wouldn't have children with them, right? And there's that woman, with the dark sunglasses and the headscarf – but she looks kind of like _that_ actress. You know. From _that_ show.

Look at me. I've never been this paranoid before. But, I never had any reason to be. All these people, so innocent. So content. There are potential assassins walking beside them right now and they will never have any idea!

I continue through the terminal, keeping an eye out for 'suspicious characters', when a tingling in my mind distracts me; it's that strange sense you get when someone is watching you.

I have to scan the whole swarm of people around me twice before I finally see it – a pair of intensely green eyes, narrowed directly at me across a sea of travelers.

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**A/N: So, thoughts? Tell me in a REVIEWREVIEWREVIEW thank you goodbye. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter is considerably longer than the others, but a lot happens. So enjoy! And don't forget to review! :D**

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The deep emerald eyes belong to what appears to be a young man – I can't really determine his age, whether fifteen or thirty, as the gray hoodie he wears dominates most of his head and torso. But his eyes shine luminously through the shadow of his hood, and I feel a chill run through me at the intensity of his gaze. Who is that guy? Is he just an ordinary dude checking out passing girls, or someone much more deadly? I can only hope that if he is the latter, he belongs to S.H.I.E.L.D.

I tear my eyes away just in time to avoid a collision with a heavyset, red-faced man wielding a trombone case like a weapon. "Hey, _watch it, _blondie!" he snarls, swerving out of the way. His trombone case clips me on my hip, eliciting a low hiss of pain. Just the thing to make this lovely day _even better_.

I stomp over to the waiting area adjacent to my flight gate, and collapse onto a bench. Everything (besides my mood) is going well so far. Now all I have to do is board soon, and pray that HYDRA agents have enough sense to _not _attack me forty thousand feet in the air on a cramped plane. Settling back in my seat, I arrange my features into what I hope is a bored expression. It probably looks more like an angry grimace, which would explain the seats next to me that are left empty.

After about twenty minutes, the airplane finally begins boarding. I stand up too quickly in my eagerness to reach the relative safety of the plane, and wobble dangerously. Note to self: get more sleep before missions.

The plane is crowded as anticipated, but instead of the secureness I expected to feel, I only grow more apprehensive. Here, there's nowhere to hide. Besides the restroom, I suppose. But I can't camp out in there for eight plus hours! I'll just have to face the fact that anyone on this plane could be out to kill me, and steal the little device that's still concealed inside my bra.

I take my seat nervously, not sure whether it's good or bad that I'm by the aisle. It'll help if I need to get away (where I would go, I have no clue, but it's a start) but it also means I'm visible to more people.

_Don't worry_, I remind myself. _Director Fury said you'd be unknown. Invisible. Part of the crowd_. Yes, he did, but I most definitely wasn't invisible to that mysterious green-eyed man. I clearly felt his eyes on my retreating figure as I hurried away from him. Not once did he stop watching me.

Lost in my thoughts, I don't even notice as a figure in gray takes a seat only three rows ahead. I don't even raise my head until I stand to let a couple step into their seats next to me, tensing as they brush past. They murmur casually to each other, smiling at me politely in greeting before shuffling around bags and making themselves comfortable. They appear harmless, but doesn't everyone?

It's going to be a long flight.

Three hours in, nothing out of the ordinary has happened – not even any lingering glances or odd behavior from other passengers – and I find myself relaxing slightly. Although I stay alert, I feel most of my paranoia slipping away and a feeling of almost… calmness taking its place. Still, I wonder vaguely how many different agents are onboard at this moment. Five? Ten? How many are from HYDRA? And how many are waiting for me or other agents to step off of the plane? I try not to think too much about the new, unfamiliar crowds that will be waiting on land.

Things will only get more complicated in a completely new country. I've never even been to Italy before! Am I supposed to know any Italian? I took Latin in high school, but I have a feeling that isn't going to help at all. That language hasn't been spoken in Rome for centuries.

I'm scanning the seats in front of me indifferently, focusing on the backs of random passengers' heads for a few seconds each, when my blood runs cold. There, not three rows in front of me, is a gray hood, partially obscured by the high-backed chairs. Could it be the same – no, there's no way. Gray is probably the most common color of hoodies out there. It could be a girl underneath that hood. There's no cause for alarm, right? Even if it is the same creepy guy from the terminal, I can't believe that he'd be following me. He could be anyone, right?

_Oh, you know that's not true_, a scornful voice in the back of my head says. _You knew you wouldn't be lucky enough to stay under the radar _completely. _Of course a creepy guy who stares at you when you're on an undercover assignment would be following you._

Whatever. So there's a potential assassin on my tail. I can handle this, right? Or some other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent can? As long as he stays in his seat, I'm not going to worry about him. Nope. Not worrying. Not worrying. Not –

Oh God. Oh God, he's getting up. Oh, Jesus. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. My friends and family don't even know that I've left the country, and now I'm going to die. Just another victim of S.H.I.E.L.D. business.

I keep my head down, eyes glued to the fashion magazine in my lap, as I hear him making his way down the aisle. Can you even kill someone on an airplane? How could he, without attracting attention? Agents definitely don't act irrationally.

He bearing down on me – he's a foot away – I'm sure he can hear my heart beating, see my hands shaking –

I look up.

Green eyes immediately ensnare me, and although it's only a second, it feels like an eternity. It's like time slows down, long enough for his face – or what's visible of his face – to be branded into my mind. He's definitely around my age, and has relatively fair skin, and an air of intelligence around him. I can tell he's not one to do something stupid.

His mouth quirks up almost imperceptibly, one eyebrow raised, as he moves forward again and steps into a lavatory in the rear of the plane. I stare at the spot he just occupied, my heart racing. _He knows_. What else could that clever little smirk mean? He knows I saw him at the airport, he knows I'm carrying the data from HYDRA, and he knows that I'm terrified of him. Whoever Hoodie Man is, he's trouble. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent wouldn't even glance at me; Director Fury briefed me on their 'undercover' behavior. That leaves HYDRA. Or another…interested party. Neither of those possibilities sounds good.

When he passes back in the opposite direction a few minutes later, I remained absorbed in my magazine, although I am intensely aware of his presence. I can feel the knowing look tossed in my direction, can almost hear him plotting out my death as he strolls casually back to his seat. God, this flight is long. I'm starting to feel majorly claustrophobic, trapped in a metal cage high in the troposphere with at least one other enemy agent on board.

The remainder of the flight drags by without any more scares on my part, although I'm so tense, the woman sitting next to me actually inquires about my health. "Oh, I'm fine, thanks," I reassure her, smiling sweetly. Yep, perfectly fine. Just got a couple of killers after me. No big deal.

Not long after that, we touch down in Italy. Because of the eight-hour flight and two-hour time difference, the sky is already a deep, deep navy. Fury wasn't kidding when he said the flight would take up most of the day.

The pilot begins speaking over the intercom in fluid Italian. It sounds lovely, but I can't comprehend a single word of it. Thankfully, he follows up in accented English. "It's a cool sixteen degrees Celsius outside, with beautiful clear skies. We hope you enjoy your time in Rome, and…" As he speaks, passengers are busy heaving duffel bags and compact carry-ons into the aisle, and slinging on backpacks and jackets. I'm glad I decided to bring my trench coat; I always picture Italy as warm and sunny, but obviously it isn't like that right now.

In the chaos of disembarking the plane, I lose sight of Hoodie Man; I don't know whether to be relieved or panicked, as he could either be gone for good (doubtful) or waiting to pounce (very likely). Once out of the airplane and in the airy, clean terminal, I allow myself a minute to get my bearings. According to the instructions on my tablet, I'm supposed to meet an agent in one of the women's restrooms in exactly nine minutes and twenty-seven seconds. I make my way over to that area slowly, trying to appear casual while anxiously examining the faces streaming past me; with any luck Hoodie Man will be far away by the end of this rendezvous.

I enter the restroom cautiously, noting the two occupied stalls and the woman applying lipstick at the mirror. Unsure of how covert meetings with other agents are supposed to go, I approach the sink and also begin touching up my makeup. There isn't much to do – I'm not one to spend hours in front of the mirror.

I'm finish up, at a loss of what to do next to appear nonchalant, when the lady next to me suddenly speaks.

"Excuse me, but would you happen to have a compact that I could use? The state of these restrooms, honestly…" She waves a hand, indicating the smears and markings on the mirror. Her manner is light and genteel, but I can tell something is amiss. This must be the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent sent to meet me. I smile amiably.

"Of course, here…" I dig through my makeup bag and hand over the case. She inspects her appearance quickly before snapping it shut.

"Thank you, miss," she says, moving forward, arm outstretched. I move to take the compact, but she slips it back into the bag herself. Then, she gives me a brief look of warning, tilting her head in the direction of the occupied stalls, and reaches inside her purse. Slowly, she removes an object and places it into my tote bag, never breaking eye contact with me. I feel the weight of it pull slightly at my fingertips. Then, snapping back into her façade, the woman backs away gracefully before sauntering out of the room, leaving no trace of her presence besides my mystified expression.

I have a sneaking suspicion of what exactly that _object_ is, and judging from my sudden nausea, my stomach does too. Slowly, I approach an empty stall and lock myself inside, before looking down into the bag, and confirming my fears.

There, nestled in between my makeup bag and a silky scarf, is a very black, very solid, very_ real_ gun.

I feel something hard pressing into my shoulder blades through the fabric of my trench coat, and realize that I've slumped against the metal walls of the stall. The thumping of blood pounding in my ears seems to echo throughout the tiled room, and for a moment I'm very lightheaded.

All of a sudden, I'm painfully aware of just how real this situation is. I've been taking the success of the mission for granted, and only now does it occur to me that I might have to defend myself. All this time, I've been counting on other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to protect me something happens, but I forgot that there are short periods of time when I'm going to be on my own. I can't have a whole entourage of agents traveling with me; it would make my objective plain as day to our enemies!

The possibility of having to handle, let alone use the weapon makes my insides turn horribly. The only time I've ever seen a gun is on a screen, in just about every action, drama, or horror movie you can think of.

Still, it can't hurt to become familiar with it. Just – _gulp_ – just in case.

Gingerly, I cradle the heavy, black handgun in my palms, half-expecting it to blow my hands apart. The trigger looks like it will respond to the slightest nudge. Fortunately, my limited knowledge of guns extends far enough to know that it takes a fair amount of pressure to shoot. Hopefully I won't have to find out just how much is required.

After a moment, I return the weapon to the tote bag, placing it carefully among my other possessions. It's almost laughable, how out of place it looks in between the colorful beauty products and designer accessories. What has my life become?

Okay. I'm armed. _Ha_, never thought I'd find myself in a situation where I could think that. But here I am, concealing a handgun in an_ airport _of all places, racing to deliver top-secret information to a government espionage agency.

All I have to do is get out of the airport without attracting attention, and then take a disguised S.H.I.E.L.D. car to the research facility.

Easier said than done.

Which is proven when I unlock the stall door and step out, only to register the figure leaning idly against the polished wall. Waiting for me.

There I am, trapped in the woman's restroom in an Italian airport, by none other than my own personal stalker.

_ Hoodie Man_. (Cue ominous music.)

His hood has been lowered, revealing a very familiar face; well, familiar to those employed at S.H.I.E.L.D. Dark, shoulder-length hair, the deep green eyes – how did I not recognize him before?

Hoodie Man is _Loki_. The antagonistic (to put it lightly) brother of the Asgardian Avenger Thor. The orchestrator of the havoc wreaked in Manhattan only last year. He attempted to dominate the human race, and brought in an army of something called Chitauri to do so.

And now he's after me. Or, more accurately, what I'm carrying.

For what seems like an hour, but is probably only about ten seconds, we stare at each other – him in amusement, me in undisguised horror. What happens now? There's no one else still in the restroom – does he kill me? Torture me? Steal the USB and then demolish the whole terminal? Is there even a way to get past him? I'd really prefer not to use the gun, if at all possible.

Struggling to organize my chaotic, terrified thoughts into an escape plan, I attempt playing innocent.

"Wh-what are you doing in the woman's restroom?" I falter, my voice sounding unnaturally high. Loki raises an eyebrow, smirking, as if to say, _Really? _

"Please, let's not waste time with silly pretenses, Miss Halsten," he purrs, pushing himself off of the wall and stepping towards me. I don't even think; the gun is out of the bag and clenched in both of my hands before his foot even touches the ground.

"Don't come near me. Stay back." I try to look fierce, but my traitorously quavering voice betrays my fear. The taunting grin remains on Loki's face, but he doesn't move forward. Which is good, because I don't think I can pull the trigger. I'm too soft.

"You know exactly why I'm here," he continues as if I hadn't said a word. "So why not make this easier for us both? It would be a tremendous waste to have to kill you. Not to mention, very messy. And I quite like this suit, don't you?"

_ Suit_? He's wearing a sweatshirt, the lunatic – _what the hell?_

Somehow, his gray hoodie has vanished and been replaced by a tasteful navy suit. I'd glanced over his file, and seen that he had magical capabilities, but I thought that only came with his Tesseract staff. Obviously, I was wrong.

Fighting to salvage my crumbling display of boldness, I step forward, fingers inching towards the trigger. "Stop messing with me. I won't hesitate to shoot you, if it comes to that." Loki rolls his eyes, and I have a sudden urge to just drop the gun and slap him as hard as possible. Why isn't he taking me seriously? I'm holding a lethal weapon, for God's sake!

"Pull the trigger, Odelia." I bristle at his casual use of my first name. How dare he? This maniac, this _loathsome maniac_ follows me to Rome, corners me in a bathroom to steal from me, and is now addressing me like we're old friends.

"What are you doing?" It's more of a statement than a question: _tell me what the fuck you think you're playing at this instant you disgusting piece of_ –

"I know you want to. Pull the trigger." The light daring tone, his hands in his pockets, still smirking – something is not right.

More out of a desire to see what will happen than out of anger, I pull the trigger. An audible _click_ –

And nothing.

"What the—" I shake the gun furiously. What has he done to it? I shriek a string of obscenities at Loki, before throwing the gun at his head. Obviously not expecting this response, he has to jump out of the way as it cracks against the wall directly behind his former position.

"Hey!" he exclaims, looking extremely offended. "That's not a toy, you know!" I merely growl in response. My chances are looking pretty grim right now, seeing as I'm trying to take on a god and failing miserably so far.

Well, it's time to resort to desperate measures. If it comes down to it, I'll have to destroy or render useless the USB before Loki can run off with it. What does _he_ even need it for, anyway? He can create monsters with magic if he wants to.

Then a solution hits me. _Distraction_. Loki is proud, arrogant even; he'll answer to any insult. I relax from my aggressive stance, arranging my features into what is hopefully a mocking and not frightened expression.

"You know, Loki, I'm genuinely curious. How did you go from attempting to take over the world, to chasing a single girl across the globe just for data that isn't even yours? Do you answer to _HYDRA_ now?" Loki's emerald eyes narrow dangerously, and his response is a low hiss.

"You _really_ don't want to do this." I smirk, but inwardly am praying that this conversation doesn't take a turn for the worse. He can look pretty scary when he wants to.

"No, I think I do. Answer the question. _Do you answer to HYDRA now_? Have you really stooped this l—"

I know I've gone too far, taunting him like that. It wasn't the brightest idea I've had, seeing as he has clear advantages over me. In less than a second, I'm pinned against the corner of the stall door, Loki's hands wrapped around my neck. My throat begins to constrict, my fingers clawing at his grip in vain. _Now you've done it!_

"Obviously, S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't up to its usual standards…starting to send novices out on high-risk assignments? Fury thought he was being clever, picking someone unknown like you…he forgets that _some_ people have more sources than just _files_ and _computers_. So to answer your question, _no_, I do _not_ answer to HYDRA. I will never answer to _anyone_. Especially fragile humans like _you_. You're the most pathetic—"

_ Whump_. Loki drops me abruptly and doubles over – my knee had connected with his groin. I scramble to my feet, coughing and inhaling urgently, and rush to the exit. However, yanking the door open proves impossible. Of all times for a door to get stuck! I can hear Loki getting to his feet behind me, only a couple of meters away. Oh, _come on_, why won't this door open? As footsteps stop directly behind me, I flinch and then – oh, _of course._ He sealed off the only exit in the restroom. Like he would actually risk me getting away. I pivot around resignedly.

"Having a bit of trouble there?" he says, all traces of anger gone. No, now he just looks amused again, like getting kneed in the groin was worth watching me make a fool of myself.

I glare at him, even though I know it will only entertain him further. "Why do you need this data? It has nothing to do with you!"

He shrugs. "HYDRA wants to use it against S.H.I.E.L.D. Against everyone, in fact. It's just my way of getting vengeance on your agency and its Director. Because HYDRA will not be the only ones receiving the data. Every one of your enemies will have it. And you can relay that to your director."

"Wait…so you aren't going to kill me?" I ask, confused by the last sentence.

Loki smirks, before backing me up until I hit the door. "Not if you willingly hand over the data, Odelia."

Fear courses through me, but I harden my resolve. "What kind of person would I be, to do that?"

Loki pretends to consider my rhetorical question. "Hmm… an alive one."

Touché. But still, better to go down defending people than to be murdered by mutant HYDRA agents, if Director Fury doesn't kill me first.

A surge of bravado overtakes my rationality, and I spit in his face. Since I was nearly choked to death, there isn't much to spit, but the gesture is pretty clear. Loki's eyes darken angrily. _Oh god oh god oh god why can't you keep your mouth shut?_

"Have it your way," he hisses, grabbing my arm.

"Wh-what are you doing?" This doesn't look like killing to me…

Suddenly, the door flies open behind me, and I lurch backwards, barely saved from an embarrassing fall by the iron grip around my upper arm. Loki drags me through the terminal, barely batting an eye at my weak attempts to break away. We're attracting quite a lot of attention; the few people still in the terminal stop and stare as he strides forward with me kicking and flailing.

"Let go of me, goddammit! Let go!" It suddenly occurs to me that I've left my rolling suitcase outside the restroom. Although it's probably the least of my worries right now, I'd be extremely disappointed to escape and find out that on top of everything else, my belongings have been stolen.

What do I _do_? I can hardly think straight with all the adrenaline, panic and survival instinct overwhelming my brain. If only I could just shut down or something and just be done with everything. That's me, persevering to a fault.

Director Fury did give me explicit instructions to call him only if the mission has been compromised. I'm pretty sure being cornered and dragged away by a vengeful god applies as 'compromised', so I quickly search my tote bag (by some miracle I managed to hold on to it) for my smartphone.

"Director Fury! I must speak with Fury!" I cry, as soon as I've dialed the agency's secure number. The person on the other end ignores the urgency in my voice, which is an impressive feat seeing as I'm nearly screaming. Loki doesn't even turn around, even though I'm sure he knows what I'm up to.

"Identify yourself, miss. I can't let you through without confirmation."

Oh, go identify your ass. I'm in danger of _dying_ here! Not to mention, this is a matter of international security! "Halsten, Odelia! Assistant in S.T.R.A.N.D.! It's compromised! The mission is compromised! _Let me speak to the Director_!"

The employee seems to finally understand that this is a dire situation, and I'm reconnected directly to Nick Fury. "Halsten! Agent Coory just informed me of your situation. _What_ is going on? Why is _Loki_ there?"

By this point, Loki has nearly made it to the closest exit: a door marked "_Personale Aeroportuale Solo_" – Airport Personnel Only – which leads outside to the airfield. "Director… sorry… I didn't recognize him… gun… disabled… and he… S.H.I.E.L.D.… revenge… he's dragging me off somewhere, I don't know – he said he would give the data to all of our enemies!" I pant, almost tripping as Loki yanks open the door and flies down a flight of metal stairs.

"Okay, whatever you do, keep it safe! That is your only objective right now: _don't let him get it_! Don't let _anyone_ get it! Any HYDRA agents searching for it have likely been alerted to—"

I'm unable to hear the rest of the sentence, for at that moment Loki rips the phone out of my hand and tosses it to the side. It survives the impact, and I can clearly hear Director Fury shouting, "Halsten! _Halsten_! Are you there?"

"Where are you taking me?" I shriek, resuming my kicking and scratching. Loki winces, and although he neither answers nor slows down, I feel some satisfaction.

We cross to a spacious, currently empty area of the runway, and Loki finally stops. "You might want to brace yourself, Odelia."

I try punching him in the groin again, but he holds me at arm's length. "Stop calling me that! And what do you mean, brace mys—"

The world suddenly begins to spin wildly, my vision blurring to the point where I can't make out one color from another. I'm so dizzy it's excruciating, and then suddenly everything is dark and I feel weightless. Am I dead? Did Loki just kill me? No, wait – I can still clearly feel his fingers suffocating my arm. The inexplicable sensation lasts only a second before a hard surface slams into my body. It seems that I am truly dead now, and that was my body collapsing to the ground.

And then glaring light stings my eyes, and they fly open; dark gray stone is level with my face. Sunshine is streaming down, warming the side of me that is not pressed to the ground. Sunshine… but it was almost ten o'clock at night in Rome. So that must mean… I really am dead. Loki killed me. Would this be Heaven, then? _But you're not even religious,_ I think idly.

I try to sit up, before my head swims woozily and the left side of my body aches in protest. Slumping back down, I groan internally. That's going to become a nasty bruise.

"Are you hurt?" A soft, anxious voice startles me; it takes a moment for me to register who it belongs to.

Oh, great. If Loki is with me, I'm definitely not in any sort of Heaven – not only does he have no place there, but he has no reason to be dead. But if I'm not in Italy, and I'm not dead, then what is this place. "Where am I?" My words sound tentative and afraid, and I hate it. I've already been pathetic enough to last a whole lifetime, and I'm definitely not going to give Loki that satisfaction again. "Where the _hell_ am I? What did you do? I'm not dead, right?"

My eyes adjust to the bright light and I see Loki crouching over me, concern evident in his face. What does _he_ have to be concerned about? Damage to the USB, most likely. I discreetly press my side into the stone, and thankfully, the small, smooth stick digs into my ribs. If he had had the audacity to search there…

"No, you aren't dead," Loki says, an unreadable expression crossing his face. "But you aren't in Midgar— Earth. You're in Asgard."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This took me a lot longer to write than usual...it's sort of complicated, but necessary. I can NAWT wait to write the next chapter, though...it's going to be ah-dorable. In my professional opinion. Hee hee. Well, I hope you enjoy! I'm beyond happy with the amount of views (400+! Is that a lot? It is for me, I'm such a novice) and I would simply luhhhhv it if all of you gave suggestions, feedback, etc in REVIEWS! Thank you! Enjoy!**

* * *

Loki's words bounce off the insides of my head for a few seconds before I process what he means. Asgard. He has somehow transported me to an entirely different realm. In a flash, I'm sitting upright, grimacing visibly from the pressure on my tender skin. "A-Asgard? H-how… why the hell are we in _Asgard_?" My thoughts are still scattered, but I'm alert enough to remember that Loki was, only moments ago, threatening to kill me. Is this all some elaborate plan to do so? Or is there some other reason I'm here?

Whatever Loki's reasoning is, I don't especially care to stay and hear about it. But it looks like I'm going to have to – there isn't exactly an Asgard-Earth ferry service. Well, for all I know, there could be; but as I have no idea where in Asgard I am or how big the realm is, it's not in my best interest to run off in search of it.

I'm vaguely aware that I'm still sitting on the ground, gaping at Loki, while my thoughts swirl around frenetically. He waves a hand in front of my face, and I jolt out of my daze. "What?" I snap, before remembering the question I had asked him.

He sighs patronizingly, as if talking to a young child that is having trouble learning addition. "Are mortal minds really so dense that they forget everything that has just been said? Never mind, I wasn't planning on answering your question anyway. Now, are you hurt?"

I glare up at him, eyes narrowed in indignation. Oh, what I would give to knee him in the groin again! "First of all, I am _not _dense. You think I'm going to sit here, in some godforsaken 'realm' of yours, where you took me _against my will_ after nearly _asphyxiating_ me, and take verbal abuse from the likes of _you_? I don't know what you're up to, but—"

"For the love of Odin, woman! You are not making this easy at all!" Loki exclaims in exasperation, before grabbing my hands and pulling me roughly to my feet. I wince as my head and numerous bruises throb painfully in response to the sudden movement, a reaction that does not go unnoticed by Loki. "So you are hurt? What's wrong?" Long, slender fingers gently turn my head to either side, before lifting one of my arms and pushing up the sleeve of my jacket. I am reminded of when I was given shots before traveling abroad, and being prodded and examined by an expressionless nurse.

"I'm not hurt. It's fine." I mumble, yanking my arm away. The skin is slowly turning a nasty shade of purple from the impact on the carved stone pavement. Loki frowns at me reprovingly.

"I did say to brace yourself. You continue to pretend as if I'm speaking a different language." Too bad he isn't. He would be so much easier to ignore.

I stomp over to where my bag is laying a couple feet away, taking the chance to observe my surroundings. The stone floor is cut into perfectly smooth, square slabs, which glitter in the sunlight streaming down from behind a row of gleaming columns. We're on a large balcony adjacent to a vast, currently empty hall that is separated by lofty double doors carved with vines and accented with gold. I step cautiously over to the stone railing, fearful and at the same time undoubtedly eager to gaze upon the fabled realm.

The sight takes my breath away.

The whole city – er, world – realm – _whatever_ is practically glowing with a soft, lovely light. The structures are spread out over one island-sized landmass, which is a mix of forest greens and cerulean blues. They cluster around the building I stand in now, a soaring golden palace, made up of differently sized towers, that tapers from its base to its peak.

Surrounding the whole region is a sparkling, navy blue sea, which stretches far off into the distance, its tranquil waves disturbed only by a few boats and an iridescent bridge that stretches across the length of the ocean, all the way to the horizon line.

I continue to stare at the fantastic world below me, lost in a mix of wonder and sudden, overwhelming despair. I don't want to die here, in this beautiful, deceptively idyllic realm. I want the last sight I see to be that of my own world. What if I can't find a way to return, and I'm stuck here for the remainder of my life (however short it may be)?

I want to see my father again, to repair my damaged relationship with my mother, who is still disappointed in my failure to be the popular It Girl that she was in high school and college. I always tried to make up for my anti-popularity attitude by immersing myself in fashion and cosmetics, but my ultimate choice in going to M.I.T. instead of an expensive state school ended up with my dad accompanying me to campus on my first day as a freshman, forcing a cheerful smile as he gave me my only goodbye hug.

I haven't spoken to my mother face-to-face in years. And now it looks like I won't get another chance to. Not to mention, the dream of mine that tore us apart in the first place is out of the question, too. Why, _why_ am I here?

"We must go now," Loki calls, after a full minute passes with me staring off in the distance. "As you are unfamiliar with Asgard, I suggest you follow me."

I whirl around, the pressure and stress of the day's events starting to take its toll on my self-control. "I'm not going anywhere!" I shriek, my voice trembling. I'm not sure whether I'm furious or just plain hysterical, but it feels good to finally get all the pent-up frustration out of my system. "You just drag me here and…and…you expect me to do whatever you say, just because there's nowhere for me to go! No one to help me! Well, _I_ can help _myself_! And there is no way you are getting this _goddamned _USB unless you _confiscate it from my dead body_!"

My voice breaks slightly on the last sentence, and for a second the balcony is a watery blur. I blink away my tears furiously, not wanting to appear any more pathetic in front of Loki than I already have. Surprisingly, he doesn't comment on my emotional lapse, and sighs in resignation.

"I'm not going to take anything from you. And I'm certainly not going to kill you. You're coming with me to meet with my brother."

I blink in confusion. His brother? As in…Thor? What does Thor have to do with anything? And did he say he's _not_ going to take the USB? "_What_?"

Loki smirks briefly before turning towards the hall. "If you want to understand, you'll follow me." He strolls into the shadowy room, and my legs move reluctantly to catch up to him.

We walk silently side-by-side through the enormous palace, traveling down countless corridors and up and down ornate staircases, my mind burning with questions I can't seem to formulate into speech. Loki said he wanted revenge on S.H.I.E.L.D…. he tried to kill me…his objective was getting the USB… but now that's all a lie? And Thor…he hates Thor, doesn't he? He tried to kill him, too. Likely more than once. We should have a lot to talk about, Thor and I. And _hang on_…

"Is that a… did you change clothes _again_?" I ask incredulously, noticing for the first time that Loki is wearing a black-and-emerald mantle, a layer of armor-like garments, and brown boots – typical Asgardian dress. When did that happen?

A grin flashes across Loki's face, if only for an instant; it's gone so quickly I'm not even sure it was real. I have to admit he has a rather charming smile when it isn't directed at me in mockery or condescension.

"If you could change your attire at will, you would do it as often as me," he replies. It's my turn to roll my eyes. Have I not been patronized enough today?

Soon we stop in front of another set of immense doors, again almost twice my height of 5'6". Loki's face is impassive as he pushes them open quietly, before standing back to let me step through. _The very image of a gentleman_, I think wryly.

The doors open into a large, dimly lit chamber, with numerous oak tables spaced evenly across the floor and ornately carved shelves lining the walls. More shelves stand in rows in the middle of the room, casting long shadows in the light of the candles and lamps scattered throughout the space. There are hundreds, or more likely thousands of books in this room. It seems to be empty, but there are a number of nooks, crannies, and shadowy corners in which someone could conceal himself. A dark shape on the left wall draws my attention, and as my eyes adjust to the lighting, I realize that it is a floor-length window, shuttered to block out any natural light from seeping in.

"Why are all the windows closed? Is it always this dark?" I whisper, the eerie atmosphere causing me to keep my voice low. Where is Thor? My skin prickles in apprehension as I move forward.

"Not usually. Just for today." Loki's voice echoes through the room, calm and comfortable. He obviously doesn't find this place creepy at all, but that's probably because he's been in here when there's adequate lighting.

"Uh…where is… Thor?" I ask, straining to see through the gloom with the aid of a nearby candle. Next to me, Loki shrugs.

"BROTHER, FINALLY! I feared something terrible had happened on Midgard!" a deep voice booms, causing me to jump about a foot in the air. "I apologize for the darkness; I was reading a collection of Night Runes, as you were delayed." Suddenly, light flares from above; chandeliers that had been concealed in the darkness now blaze with a cheery, yellow glow. I glance at Loki, who appears neither surprised nor pleased; in fact, he looks bored.

A tall, brawny man cloaked in a crimson cape and dark, navy clothing approaches us from behind a row of shelves. He has golden hair that falls past his shoulders, and a welcoming smile. This is Thor, the mythical god of lightning and one of the Avengers. I suddenly wonder if this is all a very elaborate dream. He seems much more approachable than the photos I've seen in the news and at S.H.I.E.L.D., where he's always pictured as fierce and mighty, not to mention very disregarding of S.H.I.E.L.D. rules and expensive property.

"Yes, well, here we are, and I think it would be best to enlighten Miss Halsten on why exactly she is here." Loki says, inclining his head towards me. I nod in agreement, although I'm still a little too dumbstruck at seeing Loki and Thor interacting in a non-violent manner to speak for myself.

"You have not yet informed her?" Thor responds exasperatedly. Loki shrugs.

"I didn't feel like dealing with any more outbursts and absurd questions."

I gasp in outrage. "My questions and outbursts are perfectly reasonable responses to being kidnapped and transported to a different world!" My voice reverberates through the chamber, causing me to redden slightly in embarrassment. I didn't really want the first thing to come out of my mouth in the presence of an Avenger to be furious bellowing.

But Thor is laughing, the sound ringing through the room, and takes my hand before kissing it good-naturedly. "Oh, it is truly a pleasure, Miss Halsten," he says, still beaming. "Forgive my brother's behavior. He did what he had to. You did your best to make it difficult, though, did you not?" I crack a smile, recalling that Loki said almost the exact same thing earlier.

"Many Midgardians are not easily subjugated, but _she_ takes uncooperative to another level," Loki mutters, frowning. I grin inwardly.

"She has reason to be," Thor says, before returning his attention to me. "Miss Halsten, a woman dear to me was targeted by a Midgardian organization you call HYDRA because of knowledge she held. I asked my brother—"

"_Asked_? I believe the correct term is _ordered_—"

"—to bring her to Asgard and retrieve the information—"

"—like I'm a common courier, _degrading_—"

"I got you out of prison, brother, would a thousand lifetimes be preferable—"

"You don't want to tarnish your glorious image—"

"—do not be so bitter, you know why I asked you—"

The two gods descend into bickering, and my presence is all but forgotten as they go back and forth, yelling at each other. From what I could understand of their exchange, Loki got out of his punishment in Asgard by using his 'traveling' abilities to protect a woman that Thor loves. What they failed to explain is how the genetic mutation data has anything to do with this situation.

"Um, excuse me—" I unsuccessfully try to draw their attention back to me. "Loki – Thor – please, listen – _EXCUSE ME_!"

The brothers gape at me in surprise, and then back away from each other grudgingly. "Forgive us, my lady," Thor says remorsefully. "As I'm sure you know, there is not much we can agree on."

"Okay, now, can you _please_ tell me how I am even remotely connected to this… mess?" I implore, waving my arms in frustration. "I don't want to be here. I want you—" I point at Loki, "—to take me back as soon as possible. Now is preferable, but I can see that's not going to happen."

Thor sighs heavily, although I think it's just him being characteristically dramatic rather than him assessing the critical nature of the situation. "Of course. I will explain. The knowledge that you carry does not originate from the HYDRA group." He pauses, looking thoughtful. "While we are on the subject, I must say I truly cannot fathom why they chose such a ridiculous title—"

"Thor! Continue!" Loki snaps impatiently.

"Of course, forgive me. Miss Halsten, the knowledge you carry with you is not all that it appears to be. Jane – the woman I love – is aiding us in planning the rebuilding of the Bifrost, our bridge between the realms. She was in Midgard when the enemy group HYDRA heard about the plans for the Bifrost, and their invisible hunters—"

"Brother, they are known as _agents_—"

"—their agents were sent out to look for it. There is no advantage like access to other realms. Jane was able to cover the Bifrost plans up with her deceased friend's work—"

"Her 'friend' was a scientist like her, if you haven't made the connection—"

"—but it was still stolen from her. Before the agents could do her harm, my brother used his powers to bring her to Asgard where she would be safe. Then, as you know, your – what is the Midgardian term again? Oh, agency. The agency, in turn, took the information from HYDRA, and believed it to be research of some sort."

"Experimental genetic mutation research, to be exact," says Loki helpfully.

"Yes. I believe you know the rest of the tale… your Director-of-Fury—"

I suppress a giggle. "His name is _Director Fury."_

"Of course. I often forget these odd Midgardian titles. Well, he has claimed that which is not his. The plans, which are now in your possession, are desperately needed for the completion of the Bifrost. Do you understand now, my lady?"

I nod weakly, the pounding in my head increasing drastically with the onslaught of information being received. All I want to do right now is fall asleep and cease any brain activity for about three days, but I'd like to solve the 'stuck-in-a-different-realm' problem first. And Thor _still isn't done talking_!

"…We would be honored if you would help Jane in the work on the Bifrost. Are you not one of the most gifted minds of your age?"

Me? The most gifted of my age? Did Thor, one of the famed Avengers and a powerful 'god', just say that to me? I'm so dumbfounded, I barely even register his invitation. "Um… I don't know…"

"She is not the type to boast, Thor," Loki cuts in quietly. "But we both know that based on her level of intellect and her past experiences, she would be very beneficial. Besides, I'm sure your Midgardian scientist would like the company of her own… kind."

Loki and Thor are having a calm, casual appraisal of my intelligence, right before my eyes. How is this even… _real_? The dizziness returns and I sway slightly on the spot. Is jet lag from Rome kicking in?

"Well, my lady? Would you consider it?" Thor's booming voice clears my head, if only for a moment. "I fear that many hours of mental labor have taken a toll on Jane, and she would greatly appreciate any help. As Asgard has had no need for scientific studies before now, we cannot aid her. Will you?"

Suddenly, I recognize the significance of the offer. I'm being asked to work on building a _portal between realms_. How many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents can say they've done that? Hell, how many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have been transported to another world at all? None. I am the first. And as the first, it's basically my duty to accept the offer. "Okay. I will," I murmur. Weird. I sound like I'm on the other side of the room. Could it have anything to do with the intensifying pain in my head?

"Odelia, are you alright?" Loki asks, stepping forward. His brow is creased in concern, but I pay no attention to him. What bothers me is the sudden dimness in my vision. Were the chandeliers above us extinguished without our knowing? And why haven't Loki and Thor noticed?

"Must be a draft somewhere," I mumble, barely glimpsing two perplexed faces in front of me before my knees buckle. I'm out before I hit the floor.

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**A/N: Did you like it? Hate it? Too confusing? Funny enough? Blarg, blarg, etc, etc? I would love to hear ANYTHING you have to say. I'm totally in the dark as to what people's reactions/opinions are, so review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: You guys don't even know how happy I am with the response to this story. Like, it makes my day getting follows and reviews. Thank you so much for that. You're seriously the best.**

**I don't own the Avengers,** Loki,** blah blah blah... enjoy the chapter, and please review!**

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When I open my eyes, I am greeted by a painfully familiar sight.

The impeccably trimmed lawn cut in half by a stone path, leading up to a white door adorned with a quaint, bronze elephant-head knocker. The sprawling cerise rosebushes that have always induced the envy of neighbors. The ivy snaking up the bricks of the elegant Colonial-style brick house.

It's my childhood home. I haven't seen it in years – my dad and brother always visited me, as I was too scared to confront my mother – but it looks exactly the same as it did that humid day in August when I left for Massachusetts. It even feels like it – it's unusually warm for September, sweltering even, but somehow I'm not bothered even in my trench coat, jeans, and riding boots.

Why am I here? What happened with Loki that made him send me back?

Maybe it's his conscience being consumed by unendurable guilt. Doubtful, though, seeing as he managed to cause the death of hundreds of people in his campaign to conquer humans and doesn't seem to be in a state of constant misery and repentance.

I make myself angry just thinking about him. Him and his smug little smirk.

"Ottie!" My twenty-year-old brother's age-old nickname for me shatters the serene silence. "Odelia? You're back?" Dave is standing in front of me, puzzled and surprised but joyful. His painstakingly tousled chestnut hair and blue eyes identical to mine are as familiar as the house we stand in front of. I hug him quickly, feeling dwarfed by his six-foot-two frame. I'm at least a head shorter.

"Yes, well, no – I don't know why—"

I'm startled by a strange rushing noise, like something being thrown. Then a dull thump. And a cry of pain.

Dave crumples to the ground, a blade imbedded in his back. A woman dressed in all black – it's the woman who sat next to me on the plane to Italy – stands by the house, another dagger already leaving her fingers. I watch it flying towards me, as if in slow motion—

"No!" I shoot up, breathing heavily and shaking. I'm in a dark room, lit by a single candle on a windowsill to my right and allowing me to just make out the wide bed encasing me. My house has disappeared, Dave has disappeared, the knife-wielding woman has disappeared. I was dreaming.

I flop back down, the images fuzzy in my memory. It felt so real. I haven't had a nightmare in ages. It must be the strain of the past few days' events getting to me.

As I lay there, tangled in silky-soft sheets and heavy blankets, I puzzle over my location. How did I get here? …Oh, right. I collapsed, most likely scaring Thor and Loki out of their minds. They evidently decided to leave me in this room instead of waking me up in the library. Quite thoughtful, actually, which means it was probably Thor's idea.

After a while, I decide I can't possibly go back to sleep. I have questions that need answering, a realm that needs exploring, and food that needs devouring. It must have been hours since I fainted, as it is completely dark outside the window.

I take the candle and light up the rest of the ones I can find, and see that the room is attractively decorated with Asgardian art and carvings on the wall – and a couple of lethal looking weapons. My human clothing has been cleaned and left over the top of a nearby chair; I have somehow changed into a silky, long-sleeved white shift, and my hair has been let out of its neat twist so it spills over my shoulders.

After a moment's hesitation, I throw on my trench coat over the dress (there's always that one article of clothing you love too much to leave anywhere) and tug on my boots. Then I walk towards the door, intending to find out for myself what goes on around Asgard.

The door abruptly flies open as I near it and I collide with a tall, lean figure with a muffled, "Wha—_Unmph!_" We both jump back, and as my eyes adjust to the light streaming in from the corridor behind, I recognize that it is Loki. "What are you doing here?" I snap, smoothing down my clothes irritably.

"I don't believe you have a right to say that, as this is where I live," he replies evenly. "I should inquire as to what _you_ are doing leaving this room."

I glare daggers at him, silently daring him to stop me. "Get out of my way."

He raises an eyebrow, before brushing past me into the room and closing the door behind him. As he walks in, chandeliers on the ceiling suddenly light up, and the little room is flooded with light. I can clearly see Loki's face now, and am shocked, to say the least. Now that my mind is rested and not preoccupied by confusion, panic, and survival instinct, I realize that Loki is _very_ attractive.

Actually, that is a major understatement. He is handsome. Gorgeous. Mind-blowingly beautiful. High, chiseled cheekbones, flawless skin, expressive brows – and his lovely green eyes, which are currently full of puzzlement. "Odelia?"

I jolt out of my daze, blushing slightly. "What? Oh, yeah – so why are you here then?"

"Only to assess your condition. Midgardians are so easily overwhelmed. Thor immediately assumed you were dead… That isn't very surprising, though, as he thinks with his hammer most of the time." Loki smirks; while it looks much sexier to me now, it still manages to be infuriating.

"Well, you know, I'm sorry for collapsing from exhaustion and stress and a headache and the side effects of your magical kidnapping scheme!" Thinking of the events leading up to this moment reminds me of the USB, and in horror I realize I no longer feel the smooth metal pressing into my skin. Slapping a hand to my chest, I sputter, "D-did you – you stole – you _stole_ it – h-how _dare_ you – oh my God—"

"Oh, are you referring to _this_ curious item?" Loki interrupts casually, producing the silver memory stick. He inspects it with mild interest before glancing at me. "I did not take it directly from you, if that is what you're distressed over. An attendant found it concealed on your person earlier and gave it to me. Is this not the object which Thor and I need?"

I stick my nose in the air defiantly and stay silent, refusing to meet his gaze. Hating him is not going to take a lot of effort, even with his attractiveness. He tries again. "Really, what is this for? How do you even _open_ it?" I have to giggle at that. Asgardians really are clueless when it comes to human technology; even the clever god of mischief.

"You can't open it. If you try to, you'll break it and the information inside will be lost." I tell him.

Loki looks alarmed. "You don't open it? But how do you obtain…"

It is immensely satisfying to see _him_ confused for once. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. "Okay, you don't know how to use it. Give it back."

I hold out my hand triumphantly, but Loki eyes me suspiciously.

"You cannot deceive the master of lies, Odelia."

I huff in frustration. "What happened to '_Miss Halsten'_?"

"I will address you as I please. _Odelia."_

"Oh you _will_, will you? Let me make something clear to you…"

We probably would've started screaming at each at this point, if my stomach hadn't taken the opportunity to rumble audibly. Loki glares at me for a second, like he wants to continue the argument.

Finally, he says, "I suppose I should show you to the kitchens, or the dining hall…" I nod vigorously. How long has I been since I last ate? A day?

Loki steps back through the door and into the corridor, and I follow. Once again, he leads me through the palace, and just like last time I am compelled to break the silence with an idiotic question. "Uh…so, just wondering…why are you, you know, being… somewhat _civil_? I don't think you've even threatened me once yet…"

Loki laughs and continues on without glancing at me. "I can stop, if you wish."

I roll my eyes childishly and don't humor him with a response. Is there any point in trying to get a straight answer out of him?

We turn a corner and walk down yet another long, brightly lit corridor with countless golden accents everywhere. The entire realm seems to have a gold-on-gold-on-gold color scheme. I let my eyes wander, marveling at how this much of the one color can actually look beautiful. No wonder the Greek king Midas went a little bit crazy for it.

"Honestly, how is there this much go— what? Why are you staring at me?" I ask Loki, flushing self-consciously under the scrutiny of his narrowed green eyes.

"Does your neck pain you?" he asks suddenly, his focus on my exposed throat. I touch it, feeling only slight soreness from when he was _throttling_ me; clearly it isn't as bad as I imagined it to be, although the experience wasn't at all fun.

"Not really," I shrug, not wanting to linger on the subject. It's awkward enough to have a conversation with the individual that demolished New York, and this does nothing to help. And our exchanges are so bipolar – _argue, concern, argue_.

"Let me see it," he insists quietly, leaning in towards me, his mouth turned down slightly at the corners. There's a tingling sensation in my stomach that has nothing to do with hunger when I look at his lovely face. Is it _normal_ for me to be this attracted to someone I barely know, let alone _like_? For God's sake, it's _Loki._

All reservations fly out of my mind as his long, slender fingers gently tilt my chin up, allowing him to better view my throat. His touch, his gaze, his _proximity_ seems to burn into my skin and I'm exceedingly aware of the fact that his perfect lips are only inches away from mine. An embarrassingly familiar heat rises into my cheeks. Ugh, can I _ever_ keep my wits around attractive men?

"I hope you can forgive me for that," Loki purrs, his velvet voice rendering me incapable of speech. _Does he do this on purpose? Is he aware he has this effect?_ "I – well, _Asgardians_ are much stronger than humans."

I nod rapidly, ignoring my brain's protests as I pull away from his touch. _Noooo… don't goooo… SHUT UP._ "O-okay, it's been great, but I don't think I'm hungry anymore – still a bit tired, I'll find my way back to my room. By myself. So…bye." I turn and rush back the way we came, only looking back for a split second to see an utterly bewildered Loki staring after me. I fight the urge to go back and put his hand back on my chin and touch his chiseled jawline and kiss his perfect—

_No. Don't even think about it. You are lusting after a monster._

I steel myself again and return to the bedroom, where I spend a sleepless night pushing away thoughts of green eyes and lovely lips.

The next morning, I wake up in considerable pain.

It is now perfectly clear that abandoning Loki in favor of my remaining shreds of dignity and an hour of sleep was the wrong choice to make. My stomach is probably the size of a walnut at this point. I haven't eaten in a couple of days!

I drag myself out of the messy bed upon which I tossed and turned all night and stomp out of the room, stopping only to pull on my jacket and boots. Finding my way back to the corridor where I left Loki is not too difficult; my sense of direction is surprisingly decent.

But there, I run into a problem. There are two different hallways that I can continue down, and one large staircase. At this point, I'm thinking with my stomach and not with my brain, so I pick a direction at random and start exploring.

The palace is not very populous; I only pass a handful of different Asgardians, all of whom gawk at me with disdain. In retrospect, it would've been a good idea to ask for directions to the dining hall or even the nearest pantry, but my aversion to being belittled by someone I don't even know steers me away from that option.

It seems like I might be lost for good in that godforsaken palace, when a voice calls out to me. Sort of.

"Hey! Trench coat!" It sounds like a young woman. I swivel around in surprise – since when are Asgardians educated in our types of apparel?

The speaker is a small brunette poking her head out of a door that I had just passed. Her hair is cut somewhat shorter than the rest of the women around here, but she wears an Asgardian tunic and armor embellishments. "You're the girl who just came from Earth yesterday, right?" she chirps, smiling amiably.

I nod hesitantly. "Yeah, that's me… uh, how do you know about that?"

The woman beckons me to where she is standing. "Thor told me. But people know. Not everyone, but some have guessed. It isn't too hard, to tell you the truth."

I smile genuinely, for I know now who this girl is. It is unbelievably reassuring to see another human finally. "That's unsurprising. Uh… I'm Odelia."

The woman extends her hand for me to shake. "Nice to meet you. Jane Foster. I should probably show you what I'm working on, as you're here to help."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Yeah. it's been awhile. For me, at least. School is dumb. I just want to write and life is like NO HAHA I WILL BREAK YOU. I wanted it to be longer, but its too good a stopping point for the time being. Ugh, so much stuff I want to happen...grr. I'll let you read the actual story now. After the pleading cry for reviews. Can you hear it? I can... reeeeVIIIEEEEEEEWWWwwwwsss... see? The cry don't lie. Please review as I love feedback/suggestions/etc and I hope you enjoy! :)**

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We step inside the doorway of Jane's room. It's much larger than mine, with several oak shelves crammed with books of every shape, size, and color. Star charts and faded sketches adorn the walls, and light from two open windows illuminates a neatly made bed and a dresser.

"Wow," I laugh, "how in the _world_ do you power that laptop?" I gesture to the sleek device humming on a large table in the center of the room. Various scientific devices that would make S.H.I.E.L.D. positively green with envy clutter the space. "How did you even _get_ this technology?"

Jane blushes, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, some is from my old lab, some… ah… _borrowed_, and some I made myself." She smiles bashfully at my impressed expression. "And I'm tapping into the energy of the Tesseract— don't worry, it's perfectly safe," she assures me quickly, seeing my horror. "It's basically the only power source for this technology — as you can see, Asgard is much different from Earth."

I nod, crossing the room to examine the machines. "Did you get the USB?"

"Yes, I plugged it in already. The bridge is nearly ready to be constructed now. I've just been researching it up until today… I've never really dealt with anything like this before." She gestures towards the computer, but I understand that her meaning is broader than that.

"Yeah, I don't think anyone has." With Jane's permission, I begin to familiarize myself with the Bifrost. It is apparently what should be at the end of the rainbow bridge I spotted stretching over the water yesterday; events of a few years ago saw it destroyed.

The portal is inside a golden dome, and can only be activated by the sword of the gatekeeper. "Who's the gatekeeper?" I ask, turning to Jane, who is scribbling notes in a leather-bound composition book. She glances up, deep in thought.

"Huh? …Oh, the gatekeeper. His name is Heimdall. Apparently he is all-seeing. Knows everything that goes on in the surrounding realms." She grins briefly before returning to her writing. "Don't expect there's much crime here with him around."

_Except when it comes to Loki_, I think. He's got formidable powers of his own. Aloud, I say, "So… I was told that you were brought here by Loki." Jane's head snaps up, displeasure coloring her features.

"Yes, that's right. But Thor sent him. He had to… Loki has his own way of passing between realms and was the only one for the job. Otherwise he would still be rotting in a cell."

I find it hard to believe that Loki would use his abilities to rescue Jane just because Thor ordered him to. On the contrary, he probably would have tried to escape or wreak havoc the moment his punishment was lifted. "How did they convince him to do that? Wouldn't he just take the chance and escape?"

Jane snorts with laughter. "If the King was that dense as to not predict that, I would marvel at how Asgard has lasted until now. No, Odin restricted Loki's powers so that he could only use them for a certain amount of time and in a certain way. He was forced to bring us here." Jane's tone is conversational, but I detect a flicker of something in her eyes – appreciation? Delight? Whatever it is, it shows me that Jane is ecstatic to be here. A committed scientist like her would have dreamt of an opportunity as fantastic as this for ages.

We lapse into peaceful silence as I bring myself up to speed on Jane's project. The Bifrost is a vastly complicated structure; not only does it require a great deal of complex and precise calculations, Jane's notes imply that it must be interwoven with 'magic' prior to completion.

I can't help but made an incredulous noise in my throat. "Uh, Jane? I couldn't help but notice… _magic_? Isn't that taking this whole 'Norse god' thing a little far?" I reexamine the pages cramped writing, trying to wrap my head around the idea. Portals and super-strength and illusions are plausible. But everyone knows that magic is something else entirely… a word our ancestors used to dismiss anything they couldn't explain.

Jane gives me a hard, calculating glare. The weight of her steely gaze is uncomfortable and I resist the urge to take back my skepticisms. I did _not_ agree to prolong my abduction just to act like a spineless slave to Thor's genius girlfriend.

"Of course I don't think they are gods!" said girlfriend exclaims crossly. "I've been around them much longer than you – I'm in a relationship with one! Let me tell you, while Thor is a wonderful person, he's no god. Not in this era. But even you can't deny that Aesir have powers that we lack. It's more than just Loki's tricks and Thor's lightning. You and the rest of Earth can call me crazy for believing it, but I'm not a lunatic. I'm logical. Reasonable. And it is perfectly reasonable to say that this race has their secrets. So." Jane crosses her arms, suddenly self-conscious as she winds down her rant.

I feel my face warm and know that I'm flushing in embarrassment. Sometimes it's like there's a one-way path from my brain to my mouth, and heaven help any innocent egos that might get in the way. "Sorry. I honestly never meant to offend you. I'm just so useless around other people — I always seem to say the wrong thing." The corner of my mouth lifts apologetically, and I lower my eyes back down to the table.

"It's fine. I kind of know what you mean. I spend — well, _spent_ — all my time in a makeshift lab with my only two friends. So don't worry about it." Jane smiles understandingly. Before long, the tense atmosphere has evaporated and we talk animatedly while together placing the final touches on the Bifrost plans.

Jane reads and rereads her notes, checking calculations on the laptop, before ginning widely at me. "Odelia, we're done. Oh my god, we did it. We designed a Bifrost!" She jumps up excitedly, unable to contain her exhilaration.

I smile. "I just sped up the process. _You're_ the one who designed it. Congratulations." Jane paces around excitedly for another minute, before running out to find Thor.

"Now we're going to build it!" she exclaims, before hurrying down the corridor and out of sight. I am left sitting awkwardly in the middle of her room, wincing in pain as my stomach finally diverts my attention to its continued emptiness. In the enthusiasm of learning about the portal, I totally forgot the reason for arriving here in the first place.

There's a convenient bowl of fruit on the dresser, and I eagerly pluck an apple from the top to tide myself over until I locate the dining hall. Then I leave the room, closing the door quietly behind me.

During my trek through the palace, I approach the magnificent library. Curiosity causes me to linger in front of the immense doors, and once again I ignore the lessened hunger pangs still present. I have an uncontrollable urge to peek inside.

How can I pass up the opportunity to learn the history of a world virtually unknown to humans? How can I resist the lure of the mystery shrouding these other realms, and the possibility that answers to hundreds of mankind's questions regarding other worlds could be right behind these doors, collecting dust on towering shelves?

I push open one of the heavy doors timidly, almost pulling back as it creaks slightly, and then slip though the small gap. The room is still brightly lit, although seemingly unoccupied. "Hello?" I hear my voice ring through the wide space, weaving in and out of aisles of shelves and bouncing off of the slightly curved ceiling, before fading away. There is no response, so I make my way to the nearest shelf and examine the titles.

Surprisingly, most of the titles are in English, while the rest have odd symbols and characters or no words at all. I select a heavy tome with faded ink scratches along the spine, holding it gingerly on my fingertips. It turns out to be a book of poems, written in a foreign language. After flipping through the book curiously, I replace it on the shelf.

There are far too many books to get through in one sitting, or even a hundred sittings, so I lug a random selection of volumes to a nearby table and plop down.

About an hour later, I'm deeply immersed in a book of Aesir folk tales, completely unaware of the giant doors creaking open and the tall figure moving — or more like prowling —silently across the marble floor.

"_What_ in the name of Odin are you doing in here?" a clipped, velvety voice barks abruptly, causing me to knock a couple of books to the floor with a dull thud.

"God, would you stop sneaking around? I swear, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" I gasp, swiveling to see Loki hovering over the side of my chair. My racing heart does not calm down in the slightest as I take in the exasperated — and endlessly sexy — frown pulling at his perfect lips.

"I have no sympathy towards your feeble mortal heart," Loki says lazily, choosing to ignore my obvious exaggeration in favor of finding another way to provoke me. "I am more concerned with why you thought disappearing for an _hour_ was a wise decision when you have _one_ purpose here and one purpose _only_ — to assist Jane Foster. Goodness, the sheer amount of empty space that seems to be prevalent in your head is _alarming_."

His biting insults roll off of his tongue as easily as if we're just sitting here, talking about the weather. He obviously doesn't know how to carry a normal, friendly conversation — not that I want to be friendly towards him. Loki's idea of fun is blowing up a city or jeering at someone until her self-esteem is literally non-existent. And I've had enough 'fun' to last me _multiple_ lifetimes.

"Go to hell, Loki," I reply simply, before returning to my book. Apparently this is not the expected reaction to one of his brilliantly worded jabs, as Loki's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, before narrowing dangerously.

"That is really quite rude," he says softly, snatching the book out of my hands and replacing it on the stack piled on the table.

"Oh, give me a fucking _break_." I snarl, reaching for the book again, only to have it moved out of my reach. I would stand and retrieve it, but Loki's tall form is blocking the chair I'm in. "I can't believe you just said that. The sheer amount of pure _shit_ that comes out of your mouth is fucking _alarming_. I don't know what I ever did to you to deserve this! You abducted me. You insult me. You even lost the page in my book! I don't know why I agreed to stay here — if I'm such a problem, then _take me fucking back_!"

During my tirade, Loki has not moved an inch—in fact, he doesn't even look like he's breathing. I inhale slowly, trying to calm myself while I wait for what is sure to be another snide remark about the inferiority of my mind. But he doesn't say anything. He just stands there, an unreadable expression on his face, while my visage reverts to a normal color. "Well?" I prompt, somewhat hesitantly, as it becomes clear he won't initiate. "Are you going to take me back?"

Loki lets out a short, quiet sigh. "No."

I blink. "What?" I'm being kept against my will? Did Thor even authorize this?

"I'msorryokayIsaiditnowlet's_go_," he exhales suddenly, before spinning on his heel and striding purposefully to the library doors. I gape after him, a slow grin inching across my face. Did I just… did he… did the god of mischief actually _apologize _to me? This has to be some sort of milestone.

Loki clears his throat impatiently, one brow arched; his posture says, '_Move your ass_,' but the flat line of his already thin, tantalizing lips, the death grip of his slender fingers on the handle of the door, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows agitatedly tells me he wants to move past this moment as quickly as possible — which obviously isn't going to happen. Oh no.

"Where are we going?" I say, watching as he relaxes — he believes that I'm graciously overlooking his short moment of humbleness. Oh, Loki. Does he really think I'm that easily placated?

"Jane Foster and Thor request your presence. The construction of the Bifrost is beginning and you two mortals are to supervise. Let's be on our way, Odelia."

Loki heads into the corridor without waiting for an answer. I smirk, catching up to him quickly and falling in step with him. The awkward silence draws out, until he is almost radiating tension. I'm sure he can sense what's coming.

"So. Has Thor ever heard you say that?"

"Let's forget about the things I said in there, Odelia."

"What, you saying sorr—"

"_Yes_! Oh, by the sword of Surt*, I regret it alread—" The rest of his sentence is drowned out by laughter.

"Loki," I begin later on, when my teasing mood has vanished, "I just remembered. Is there a way I can contact Director Fury, or… anyone on Earth?"

Loki scowls slightly at the mention of the Director, and I am reminded of the terrible ordeal that S.H.I.E.L.D. went through with Loki on the Helicarrier. Apparently, one of the top agents of the entire organization was killed. By Loki. And others, including the legendary Agent Barton and renowned scientist Erik Selvig, were compromised by Loki's Tesseract-enhanced mind control. I find it hard to sympathize with said mind-controller on this matter.

"No, I'm afraid there is not. You will have to cope without the guidance of your repulsive mortal allies. Does that frighten you?" Loki replies icily. I say nothing and sneak a glimpse of his face. Unsurprisingly, his apathetic veneer betrays none of his true emotions. Sometimes I find myself wondering about what goes on underneath that cool, calm, gorgeously chiseled mask; is there any regret? Any semblance of compassion? What happened to Loki that caused him to be this way?

I always end up telling myself I don't care, though. _Loki is the way he is and no explanation can redeem his actions. End of discussion_.

Sadly, I've learned to tune out the reproving voice in the back of my mind.

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***Surt = the mythological lord of Muspelheim and an enemy of Asgard**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Well it's been a while, hasn't it? As it does with many people, life just kind of took over and I was like, "Noo I wanna write!" but it was like "No frickin way because I'm STOOP!" Anywhooo, this chapter is is little longer than usual to make up. And another one will be coming soon! With a three day weekend and no social interaction, my progress will be unstoppable! Enjoy and thanks again for the follows/favorites/reviews! You make my day :)**

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Almost a week has passed since I have seen Earth. I find myself thinking less and less of my comfortable apartment, the agency to which I still owe my loyalty, and my friends and family who are most likely trying to convince themselves I'm not dead. Guilt gnaws at me almost constantly; homesickness is no longer a juvenile emotion; I miss my real life. I really do.

But honestly, there's nothing that can keep me from seeing the portal to its completion. Sacrifices have to be made in order to reach one's goals; reality is my sacrifice, for the time being. As the days go by, I begin to find myself too preoccupied with the Bifrost to spare a single thought to anything outside of this realm, other than places I have yet to see.

The supervision of the portal's construction proves to be rather unexciting, even as the golden dome takes shape ever so slowly. How much longer will this be drawn out? Not only do I need the Bifrost to get back home, where I'm sure dozens of texts and missed calls await me (oh, wait, Loki destroyed my cell phone, never mind), but I desperately want to take just the teeniest, tiniest peek into a different realm. From what I've been reading in the library, Alfheim sounds nice. Or maybe if I'm feeling recklessly adventurous and slightly suicidal, I'll check out Muspelheim. Those fire giants seem to be a lively group. And who could say no to rivers of lava?

"… And two of the inner plates are completely fused together! If they aren't separated, the magic won't be distributed evenly, and then when Heimdall tries to channel the energy, the dome will be so unstable that it'll blow apart with the force of a supernova!" Jane's cross voice drags me from my daydreaming and back to the hectic, clanging commotion of the Bifrost. "Okay, _maybe_ that's an exaggeration. But still! It's like a computer chip. It has to be perfect in order to work. As much as I would like to, I can't build this all by myself! We need absolute precision!" The stress of the project seems to be wearing at Jane's patience; her devotion to every detail being in place has already led to a couple of short outbursts similar to this one.

"Jane, we of all people understand the burden you carry. A task like this is not taken lightly, as you know already, and as we have known for thousands of your Midgardian years." Thor rumbles beside her. "The art of constructing a functional Bifrost has not been necessary knowledge for the Aesir since the original one was built ages ago. I must implore you to forgive any errors that may emerge, as there are none alive who have built a Bifrost. But these people are gifted with skills beyond that of the most ingenious mortal, and they are doing the best work they can." He pauses, letting his gentle reproach take effect in Jane. Then puzzlement crosses his features, as he seems to linger over "And, may I inquire, what is a — what did you call it — a _computer chip_?" Thor sounds the words out carefully, aware of his lack of general knowledge of Midgardian terms. Are you referring to the _splendid_ Midgardian sustenance which is served in the form of salty ovals?"

Jane's affectionate laughter rings through the small domed room, her bad mood vanishing instantly with Thor's naïve questions. They wander away to check up on the progress of the external plating, and I am left in a loud room full of men and women hard at work, affixing grooved, gleaming, golden disks onto the interior of the dome, or fashioning various beams and blocks of polished stone to their respective places.

However beautiful and imposing the dim, unfinished structure may look now, it is a mere backdrop to the shining centerpiece of the Bifrost. An ascending circle of steps leads to a yet another golden apparatus, which has a wide slot in the top. It's essentially the lock to the door, or more appropriately, the keyhole. The gatekeeper Heimdall's sword is inserted into the device, like a sort of reverse Excalibur, activating the barely restrained energy and magic, which is to be contained in the Bifrost and channeled into a portal.

I study the contraption, which nearly reaches my shoulders. As I'm comparing it to the notes that Jane copied for my convenience, I become aware of a presence hovering just behind me. "Midgardian scientists are becoming increasingly common here, are they not?" a deep, solemn voice says without preamble.

When I turn around, I find myself face-to-breastplate with a towering Asgardian. Heavy gold armor that matches just about everything else in the realm obscures most of his body, and about half of his face. From what I can see in the dimly-lit space, he is black, and has the stance of a guard. Meeting his eyes immediately confirms my suspicions of exactly which guard he is: the irises are the same color of his weighty armor, and shine luminously. With such a rare feature, this man can only be the esteemed Guardian of the Bifrost, the gatekeeper Heimdall.

"I am Heimdall," he begins in a respectful tone. "We have not yet spoken, but I am quite familiar with you, Odelia Halsten of the District of Columbia."

Either Jane is right about the whole 'mythical powers of extraordinary eyesight' crap, or the Aesir actually care enough about my presence here to find out where I'm from. I find either explanation rather difficult to believe.

I swallow apprehensively after a quick appraisal of the gleaming sword that is clutched at his side — honestly, you'd think we were on the battlefield or something, the way he lets it hang from one hand oh-so-casually. I suppose the people here are used to this kind of behavior, but I take great care to not get too close. "I've heard about you, as well. Is it true, about your… well, I'm not sure what to call it—"

"Yes, it is a unique ability that I possess. I am burdened with the sight of all that occurs within the nine realms. There is very little that can be hidden from me. That is the reason why I come to you now, Midgardian."

"Uh…" What is he implying? That I'm _hiding_ something? What, like my top-secret plot to take over the realm? Absurd. Even if I did have something to hide, it's already humiliatingly clear how the Aesir dwarf me in both strength and skill. Trying to pull something on a race of born warriors is definitely not on my agenda.

"I do not know what to make of your time spent with Loki Lau— Odinson. But he—"

"W-wait, my time _what_? With _Loki_? What are you _talking_ about?" I splutter, taken by surprise. Does Heimdall think we are conspirators, or _friends_? Is he _insane_?

"—Loki is not in the good graces of the Aesir, and it is unknown whether he will ever be forgiven for his deeds. I have reason to believe that his involvement in this development is unwise; you can understand that. It is extremely ill-advised to associate with one as dangerous and deceitful as him. This applies to you as well—"

I hold up a hand, effectively cutting him off with a murderous glare. "I don't know what you're talking about, okay? I hardly ever talk to Loki! If you've been _observing_ me, like you _said_ — and by the way, I'd appreciate if you keep the 'observations' to a minimum, please — then you would know exactly what happens between us: nothing at all. And I really need to finish what I'm doing, so if you could let me get back—"

"Actually, Odelia, you don't," another voice drifts in decisively from right next to my ear, low and intimate. I stiffen slightly when Loki says my name, the word flowing off of his tongue so smoothly, so _sensually_—

Heimdall is giving me an odd look. I can't exactly define his expression, but it could be described as _unapologetically smug_. I think I'm starting to dislike him.

"What do you want, Loki?" I sigh, turning around to face my alleged conspirator. Today, he has abandoned the stately armor; instead he wears only a belted forest green tunic, and fitted black pants tucked into boots. The outfit only enhances his lean figure, and — oh, wonderful. I'm now having an internal struggle on whether I should openly stare at his face or at his body. This is _so_ not okay.

"Oh, _Odelia_. Is that any way to greet someone?" Loki teases, his face serious but his eyes mocking. "I only wish to offer a more stimulating alternative to this tedious task you've been assigned. I would not have liked to waste my time _kidnapping_ you, as you say, just so you can wander around this half-built mess."

Then, suddenly, his eyes shift to my left, where Heimdall stands silently. I can almost feel the disapproval radiating from the guard, but am more focused on how Loki is almost the same height as him. I never really noticed how tall Loki is until this moment, and am struck by just how much sex appeal is packed into seventy-two inches.

Wait, did I really just think that? Did I just apply that to the deceitful, scheming, murderous god of lies? Asgard must be addling my mind somehow.

"Heimdall," said god acknowledges, almost merrily. I cringe inwardly, noticing the narrowing of the addressed guard's gleaming eyes. This is one conversation I'd rather not be present for.

"Loki." His voice is flat, and Loki smirks even wider. "Your friend and I were just discussing you." I blush furiously, mentally urging Heimdall to shut up.

"Were you really? Nothing bad, I hope." Loki replies apathetically, appearing bored. Heimdall huffs in annoyance, although it's so quick that I wonder if I imagined his irritation.

"I will be watching you, Loki, more closely than ever." With those grave words, the guard sweeps away, exiting the dome and marching back across the kaleidoscopic bridge.

Turning back to the grinning Asgardian in front of me, I cross my arms. "Okay, you managed to annoy someone to the point of departure. Yay. Now what do you want?" I try to maintain the unwavering eye contact between us, until Loki begins to speak and I have to look away from fear of staring at his lips.

"Well, Odelia, as a being of superiority, I have no obligations to fulfill regarding your comfort here. But, out of pure desire for redemption and a longing to reveal the true caring nature I possess, I have decided to present you with a show of good will. My _extremely _valuable assistance." Loki says this with such an air of seriousness and enthusiasm that I can't judge for sure whether he's being sarcastic or just a tactless jerk.

"Um… thanks, Loki, but I think I can handle it—"

"No, I have to disagree." Loki waves away my response carelessly, continuing to excel in the field of making me feel utterly inferior. "I'm not talking about this mindless drudgery I've so kindly interrupted. I offer my knowledge. My willingness to help further your limited potential." He pauses and tilts his head slightly to the left, mulling over his last sentence. "Of course, that's nothing out of the ordinary. Midgardians rarely have any potential." A wide, arch grin.

I stare at him for a moment, trying to separate the insults from the significant sentences. Why do I take this? Why am I putting up with his 'psychopath with a superiority-complex' crap? "How benevolent of you. Really, I can almost _bathe_ in the divine generosity that's pouring out of your _sickeningly black soul_."

Loki's expression has remained unchanged during my venom-infused remarks, as if someone has pressed the 'pause' button during a particularly amusing moment in a film. God, if he wasn't so dishearteningly _attractive_ I might punch him in the throat. "What do you even want to help me with, anyway? What sort of 'potential' do I have that's useful to _you_? And why in hell would I _want_ to be useful to you? Oh, yeah, I'd really _love_ to have a private tutor in the art of _destruction_!" I spit, wishing that there were something I can say that would affect him the way he affects me. I wish I could degrade him and insult his intelligence and his home and everything he loves and whatever part of him he appreciates the most.

Loki steps closer, eyes narrowed menacingly. I can never really put a name to the shade of green they are; it always seems to change. Currently, they are as dark as a forest at dusk. To my chagrin, I shrink back instinctively. The movement seems to unsettle him somehow, and his expression shifts almost instantly. Where there was ferocity before, now there is an empty hopelessness. His eyes are wide now, though dark as ever. I'm not sure what disturbs me more: his rage or his… desolation. It isn't right, not for someone like him… it's too _sane_.

"You believe that I desire only to destroy." He says it flatly, none of the emotion evident in his expression discernable in his voice. If it weren't for the slight raise of his eyebrows, or the widening of his eyes, or the press of his lips, one would think that he was stating a fact. Which he is. I do believe that. Of course I do.

When I don't respond, he squares his shoulders, the vulnerability erased from his features. Just like that, he is cold and distant; it's like the previous moment has never happened. The mocking smile is back, although a little more forced; or is that just my hopeful imagination?

"My dear Midgardian, even a passionately curious mortal such as yourself would never be able to imagine the things I've seen. I possess more knowledge of the universe than your kind will comprehend for thousands of years. Isn't that one of the most mysterious speculations on Earth — that there is something waiting for you beyond the insignificant speck that is your world?" Loki purrs, a supercilious smirk twisting the line of his mouth. "You want answers. I have answers. What more could we discuss?"

Despite my thorough irritation, I lean forward, glancing furtively around the domed room to confirm that no one is listening in. Thor and Jane are still outside, doing who-knows-what, and Heimdall has not returned, though I do not doubt that he hasn't been watching. "Why would you do this for me? What's in it for you? And why not someone else, someone smarter, more _worthy_ — like Jane?"

"Oh, little Jane Foster," Loki scoffs. "She has such ambition, such passion for her work. Sadly, she grates on me. Not only is she the great _love_ of my broth— of Thor, but also dogmatic, relentlessly enthusiastic and rigidly domineering.

"And what do I gain from this? A way out. That is all I will disclose to you, at the moment." Loki says with finality, his expression unreadable. I have no clue what he means by 'a way out', but something tells me it can't mean anything good.

He waits patiently as I ponder his offer, and the consequences that my ultimate decision could have. What could I, a skinny, five-foot-five human, possibly have to offer Loki in terms of _potential_? I certainly wouldn't be able to help in any world domination plans he has in store. Is it really a good idea to blindly accept vague offers from war criminals? And how do I know that what Loki tells me is the truth, anyway? Isn't that what he's known for in Norse mythology — lies and trickery?

On the other hand, Loki is right about one thing, at the very least. I am passionately curious, when it comes to outer space. The mere notion that he might know of more planets like mine, of the foreign life we have sought to detect in vain — it's almost incomprehensible. Answers to questions that mankind has asked over hundreds of years, all trapped within the cold, flawless countenance in front of me. I have a sudden image of prying open Loki's head with a crowbar. The thought is quickly pushed away, while I repress a grin.

Finally, I reach my decision. "You really know how to be persuasive, Loki."

I am rewarded with a charming, self-satisfied smile, albeit one nearly devoid of mockery. It almost makes me feel bad for what I'm about to say, but I'm suspicious enough of Loki's true motives—Heimdall summed him up quite well as "dangerous and deceitful"— to be certain of my choice. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to decline. I appreciate the offer, though." _God, why do I sound so formal? _

The smile melts rapidly from Loki's face, replaced by a comical mixture of confusion, disbelief, and sourness. "I don't believe I heard you correctly," he snarls, clearly unfamiliar with the act of refusal. "Or perhaps I just misjudged you. You really are as unquestionably dense as the rest of your pathetic species."

"Loki," I begin irritably, determined for him to hear me out. "I don't trust you. There's nothing more to sa— oh, don't act like it's utterly absurd!" I snap, in response to his furious glare. "You aren't exactly the image of virtue. My entire 'pathetic species' has known that for years, and to many of them you're still a _myth_."

Loki scoffs. "I don't know what you're talking ab—"

"You obviously don't know a _thing _about me — I may be 'curious', but not so much that I'll treat whatever comes out of your mouth as the holy truth, just because you _claim _to have seen the universe. If I want to discover what's out there, it's going to be of my _own_ doing entirely." I say firmly. "So thanks, but no thanks."

Loki glowers at me for a second before swiveling around and stalking out of the Bifrost, the knuckles of his hands white from being clenched. One point, humans; Gods, _zero_.

Inwardly rejoicing at my small victory, I refocus my attention on the skilled Asgardians completely absorbed in their work, and tell myself again that it was definitely worth not hearing what Loki had to say.

What I _did_ hear, though, lurks unsettlingly in my mind, as perpetually mystifying as if it's been tattooed mentally in Arabic.

_What do I gain from this?_

_A way out_.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Stuff happens in this one, sort of. I guess you'll just have to reeeead it to see what I mean! :D And please review; I'd especially appreciate any critique about the plot... just wanna make sure it actually ****_works_****, you know? Thank you all so much again- I honestly canNAWT comprehend the views/follows! I don't know if it's a lot compared to ****_actual_**** good fics, buuut whatevs it makes me giddy and all that. Sooo enjoy! **

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In the evening, I retreat to the library, my refuge over the past week. Surprisingly, it is habitually deserted, but I imagine anyone who might have shown interest in it would have exhausted its contents after a few decades.

I've taken to spending my free time educating myself on the peculiar customs and literature of Asgard. Tonight, however, I make the mistake of selecting a deceptively cerebral-looking volume: a collection of obscure Asgardian rituals. There is an entire section devoted to 'mental purification' mantras that should be recited before sleep. Twenty-nine in all, but _somehow_ I neglect to deliver even one before I nod off.

_I'm strolling lazily through an undistinguished corridor, when there's a sudden yank at the collar of my jacket. I'm spun around wildly and steady myself against a very lean, very hard torso. Of course, it's Loki. Who else would be so rude? _

_ "What do you want?" I snap, before registering his hands sliding around my waist. My heart skips a beat, his touch stirring a burning ache in my abdomen._

_ "I want to make up for my _insensitivity_ earlier…" he purrs, his voice low and earnest and dripping with seduction. He bows his head and trails his lips teasingly up the side of my neck, his tongue just barely touching delicate skin, before murmuring against my ear, "…if you would be willing to allow it." I shudder slightly, moving away._

_ "W-what if people judge me? Because of… you?"_

_ Loki considers my question with a pensive smile. "Hmm." Then, he grabs my chin and crushes his lips on mine. I suppress a gasp of shock, my brain rushing to catch up with him and revel in the taste of the kiss, my hands reaching up to rest on his jaw, but too soon he pulls away, grinning. "Do you really care, at this point?"_

_ I open my mouth to answer, but he frowns, yelling,_ "Odelia!"

My eyes snap open so quickly I see spots. Oh. Right. Library. I must have fallen asle— oh, yep, the ritual book. I remember now.

"How is that even remotely comfortable?" a voice questions sardonically. If it weren't for the two-ton book still in my lap, I would jump out of my skin. Loki is looming above me, unfailingly apathetic, a hint of a smirk gracing his features. I blink blearily before realizing that he's referring to me — apparently I fell asleep curled over the book in my lap, resting my head on my forearms. The sharp corner of the cover is still poking into my stomach painfully, and I dump the offending text on a conveniently proximate table.

He cocks his head to the side slightly, studying me through narrowed eyes, shrewd and alert, as opposed to the Loki of my embarrassingly unoriginal fantasies. Honestly, several of them have the questionable build-up plot of a porn flick. In those, he usually slams me against the wall and kisses me and bites and sucks at my skin—

_Okay, don't get distracted. Not with him standing right in front of you._ I control my rampaging hormones and tune back in to what Loki is saying.

Only, he isn't saying anything. He's staring at me expectantly.

I struggle to remember what he has asked me. "Um… I don't know?" I falter, with lack of anything cogent to say.

Loki snorts and shakes his head, apparently appeased. "Well, if you've emerged out of your state of blank shock, I'll be going."

Finally immersed in the conversation, I furrow my brow in confusion. "What? You're leaving? You came in here just to wake me up?" It seems that Reality Loki and Fantasy Loki aren't too dissimilar after all. They're both relentlessly ill-mannered.

"No, my dense little Midgardian," Loki sighs patiently, "I'm _going_ to the poetry section. I have grown tired of the limited reading material in my room."

In actuality, Loki's "room" is a small, sparsely furnished cell with a transparent monitoring wall. From his presence here in the library, rather than in the depths of the palace, I infer that the cell is either lacking in adequate supervision or Loki is just given free rein within the palace parameters. Maybe the cell is utilized only to make a point.

Either way, I decide not to inquire further. "Okay. Have fun."

Loki retreats wordlessly to a darker area of the library, and I settle back in my chair and pluck a comparatively lighter book from my ever-growing pile. As we read in silence, I can't help but let my thoughts wander to the man sitting not fifteen feet away. It's almost hopeful, the way I note our shared distaste for regular socialization, probably the only trait we have in common. I can't say I'm much into recreational tower-toppling or army-commanding.

But despite Loki's several (or more accurately, plentiful) troublesome qualities, I still can't help the attraction — no, at this point infatuation — that I have towards the god. Yes, he's probably the sexiest man to date. But he's also the sexiest man to ever really pay attention to meek, self-conscious little me; who _wouldn't_ get their hopes up? Even if the possibility hanging enticingly in front of them was millennia-old, murderous, and rotating between the personalities of a heartless machine and a menopausal woman?

There is definitely something wrong with me.

Loki abruptly speaks up from behind a row of shelves. "Odelia, since you're here, I might as well ask — have you reconsid—"

"_No_."

"Alright, then." A pregnant pause. "I suppose yielding more information regarding my goal would be unnecessary then, right?"

I set my book down with an audible thump. "What?"

"It's a pity, really. I had so much planned…" Loki's melodious voice floats out of the dim aisles. There's a taunting edge to his wistful words; it's just another attempt to sway me.

I am able to control my unabated curiosity for another minute before throwing caution to the winds and taking the bait. "Okay, I'll bite," I grumble. "What are your awe-inspiringly magnificent plans?"

Loki reemerges from the shadowy rows of shelves, leafing insouciantly through a black, leather-bound hardback with gold inscriptions. He sidles up to my chair, draping an arm around the tall, rounded cushion. As usual, my breath hitches at his proximity; his hand dangles so close to my face that I can clearly see the prints on each tapered finger. Pressing my lips together uncomfortably, I glue my likely dilated eyes to the pages in my lap.

In this way, I am unable to anticipate Loki's breath warming the outside of my ear, the sensation causing me to gasp softly in surprise. "Weren't you paying attention, Odelia?" he breathes, in an actual Fantasy Loki voice, seductive and teasing. "I did say that I want a way out. Remember?" I nod mutely, eyes still downcast. "Well, let's not pretend like we don't know what that _means_."

Finally, I lift my head; my heart stutters and my stomach twists as I find his face only inches away, his eyes now locked with mine. He's stooped to become level with my sedentary height, and props his elbows on the unyielding armrest of my chair, hands clasped contemplatively. It registers distantly that never in my twenty-three timid years of existence has a man of Loki's caliber verged even semi-close to kissing me. I can change that, if I really want to, right this second; a split-second, heart-stopping glance confirms that any sudden motion forward would result in our lips brushing.

Instead, I shift back in my seat, just enough to put space between us, ignoring the ache of disappointment that knifes through my chest. Not only am I too unconfident and afraid to make a move, as I'm sure that in comparison to Loki my expertise in that area is akin to that of an elephant's, but I still don't trust the man. Invasions of my space combined with sly propositions in personal gain aren't the most promising signals a guy could send.

"Oh, I figured that part out." I mutter my delayed response stiffly, crossing my arms. "What really escapes me is why you would think I'd willingly help you escape from Asgard. What kind of person do you think I am?" Loki opens his mouth to respond, but I allow for no interruptions. "It was a rhetorical question. The point is, I'm offended that you think I'll forget my allegiances for a couple of possibly fabricated cosmic secrets."

"If you suggest your job at S.H.I.E.L.D.," Loki drawls offhandedly, tracing lines up my thigh with a feather-light, electric touch, "you've been replaced."

I blink, the biting remarks I had been preparing promptly forgotten. "What?"

I receive an affable quirk of the lips in response. "Oh, I suppose it slipped my mind earlier — yes, your venerated Director presumes you M.I.A., and it certainly wouldn't do to have an abruptly vacant position at a division so esteemed in its efficient suppression of the truth." The smile only grows wider, and perhaps even smug, as if he's gaining some sort of perverse pleasure out of revealing my misfortune. "The first task of the lucky young man who took your place was to send vague, supportive letters to your family. Of course, every effort is being taken in… _retrieving_ you." The last words are spoken with a delicate amusement, leaving his meaning clear:_ We know how futile that effort is, don't we?_

I stare at him uncomprehendingly, uncertain if I'm still dreaming and his electrifying touch and eloquent, excruciating revelation is all some sort of dormant fetish compiled by a repressed masochistic tendency. But no, if that were so, I'd probably be up against the wall at this point.

Which leaves two possibilities: he is telling the truth, or he isn't. And given the length of my absence — tomorrow marks a week since the fateful flight to Italy — it's perfectly plausible.

As the undeniable honesty of his cruelly constructed speech settles into my mind, a feeling of desolation, of hopeless disjunction envelops me. My family believes me missing, or worse. I have essentially been _fired_ after a day at my most important job to date. And these certainly aren't the sorts of problems that will simply vanish on my return to Earth.

My already strained family relations, stretched even tighter by the bizarre details of my disappearance; the difficult reunions and avoidance of explanations with friends; the aftermath of the that humiliating fiasco of a field assignment; the questionable choice to voluntarily remain on Asgard; these are only a few of the issues that I will face when I return home.

Loki interprets my expressions with disconcerting accuracy. "Yes, it is a bit more complicated than you expected, isn't it? What a _mess_ you've left behind. There's no way to escape the penalty of your decision, Odelia. You can only hope to outrun it. And I offer a rather _tidy_ route.

"All I ask, in exchange for time, and for knowledge — both of which you crave — is your attention. That's all, Odelia. I will show you how to do something very simple. You will do it. I will leave. And, if you desire, you will come with me."

It's perfect.

His reasoning is flawless. My incentive is tantalizing. And my dilemma — well, my dilemma couldn't have been more straightforward. All or nothing. I retain my integrity, and greet the smoking ruins of my once auspicious life on Earth. Or, I help liberate Loki, with whatever meager role he has planned for me, and travel the universe with him as my reluctant, derisive guide, and return home after the ongoing turmoil has… died down.

It's a painful choice to make, in the end. Really, it is. I know it makes me a terrible, hideous, disgusting, selfish reprobate. But I am forced to admit, as I sit in an ethereal palace, face-to-face with an alluring, destructive, dangerously cunning god, that I can't bear to face the disaster that claimed my former identity anytime soon.

And as the aforementioned god would happily confirm, integrity is overrated.

"Fine," I manage to bite out after a long moment of indecision. My voice does not sound half as convinced as my brain.

Loki doesn't even need to ask me to clarify. He simply smiles, self-satisfaction coloring every pore of his pale, immaculate visage. With a supercilious pat on my upper arm, he stamps the passport of my gradual descent into Hell.

"I knew you would come around," he croons.


End file.
